


Trying

by ChibiPy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol in Excess, Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Barebacking, Bittersweet, Brooklyn, But they still use magic, Cat, Cigarettes, Cigarettes in Excess, Depression, Dog Groomer, Draco Malfoy TV Career, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy owns a cat, Drarry, Harry Potter Dog Groomer Career, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Muggle Technology, New York, New York City, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post Hogwarts, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Switching, Time Skips, anger issues, mpreg mentions, spoilers in tags, tv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2019-12-25 15:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiPy/pseuds/ChibiPy
Summary: Draco is 30, he lives with Harry and their cat in an oddly-shaped, rent-stabilized Brooklyn apartment. His relationship is tumultuous, his life is a bit of a mess, his career is time-consumingly stressful. He chain smokes his way through it.This spans over years of Draco and Harry intertwining together. It’s a realistic adult relationship containing complicated and sometimes very negative feelings.Draco Malfoy is heading home, incredibly intoxicated.  He’s standing, more like swaying, on the edge of the curb attempting to hail a cab, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, the too big ash clinging on despite the strong wind.  His coworkers are laughing beside him at something that had happened earlier, talking about another bar or getting some falafel from the halal cart on the corner.“Bloody prats, you’re pissed out of your minds, it’s 2:30 in the morning.” Draco slurs, stumbling forward off the curb as he unsteadily steps one foot onto the road.





	1. Late 2010

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** Hello! This fanfiction is fully written and has ~~four~~ five chapters, one of which is an epilogue. I plan on updating this either weekly or bi-weekly. This has taken me over two years to write and comes from my own real situations and experiences. I am not trying to romanticize or condone any of this behavior. This work isn't beta'd, but a friend of mine read it and helped flesh out the story with me. So thank you Jon! Please be gentle with me! This story has meant a lot to me. 
> 
> **Sexual Content Notes** : Future explicit chapters will have sexual trigger warnings, as well as how to avoid explicit scenes in end notes. Chapter One does not have any explicit scenes. However, there are mentions of sexual acts and thoughts throughout the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco fucking hates it when they both have to be in at the same time. It seriously is the bloody _worst,_ their space is too cramped, they end up both being late. Well, Draco always ends up later than usual, and Harry who’s usually punctual ends up late and then bitches about it for at least _two fucking awful days._

**CHAPTER ONE: Late 2010**

Draco Malfoy is heading home, incredibly intoxicated. He’s standing, more like swaying, on the edge of the curb attempting to hail a cab, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, the too big ash clinging on despite the strong wind. His coworkers are laughing beside him at something that had happened earlier, talking about another bar or getting some falafel from the halal cart on the corner.

“Bloody prats, you’re pissed out of your minds, it’s 2:30 in the morning.” Draco slurs, stumbling forward off the curb as he unsteadily steps one foot onto the road. He turns his hand still outstretched, facing his coworkers Joe and Nicole. A yellow cab pulls up and he calls out to them as he opens the door, “Go home, prats!” He throws his half smoked cigarette in the street.

“You already called us that, ya ponce!” Joe calls out, effecting Draco’s posh accent for the last word which dissolves Nicole into another laughing fit. Draco flips him two fingers, then a slight wave before settling down into the yellow.

“Greenwood and Sherman, please.” Draco states calmly as he pulls out his iPhone. He looks down at the picture on the lock screen, and pauses before unlocking his phone. It’s a picture of Harry leaning back on the couch with his head resting against their cat, Scorpius.

Draco and Harry have been together for three years, two of those they have been living together here in New York City. Draco has been in New York for ten years in total, having moved here right after his two year probation period from his trial. He could not wait to get a new start to his life. A start that would mean no one knowing of his past doings, a fresh start in a new city, where blood purity in the magic community was, hopefully, far from people's minds. 

He had fallen out of contact with everyone except Blaise and Pansy after the war. Blaise stayed in England, his mother had kept their position neutral in the war. She found that it was easier to pull new young lovers by remaining inactive and aloof politically. Blaise was continuing the family ‘business’ by remaining a high society party boy. Pansy had went back to one of her family estates in Tokyo, after all there wasn’t much for Pansy in England. Her mother passed away from incurable magical cancer that plagued some pureblood lines, leaving her father alone for the first time since their arranged marriage at 18. It was public knowledge that Pansy had wanted to offer Harry to Voldemort and that hadn't went well for her family. Even after Harry accepted her public apology, it didn't mean the British magical community did.

Draco was tempted to press his face against the cold glass of the cab window, but he rather not smear his forehead against who knows who else's that’d been there before. He thinks about him and Harry, how they had gotten here at this weird cross roads in their relationship.

Harry had moved across the ocean to be with him after only dating less than a year, it was an impulsive and entirely Gryffindor thing to do. They had reconnected at the 5 year war reunion at Hogwarts. Then kept in moderate touch for a couple years, texting each other drunkenly, the other person sober or sleeping in Harry’s case most often. Then Harry had come to New York for a charity event, and asked Draco to suggest some places for lunch and dinner. Draco had one upped him, telling the other man that he was going to spend his Saturday with him, what else had he to do?

They had brunched in Chelsea Market, walked the recently opened section of the High Line like tourists, well Draco supposed Harry was one at the time. The cab veers off the parkway, stopping at a light a couple blocks from their apartment. He pulls out his keys and credit card in anticipation, sitting up a bit higher in the seat, no longer touching his back to it. 

Harry had of course insisted on paying for almost all of it, the dinner at the Red Cat, the drinks at GYM Sportsbar, drinks at Stonewall in the early morning hours, and then the steamy cab ride to Harry’s hotel in Tribeca. 

They had the most drunken, erotic, shower sex turned pressed-against-the-hotel-window sex Draco has ever had. Draco still vividly remembers his skin flush against the chill glass walls of the shower stall, while getting his arsehole licked open by Harry’s eager tongue. He had felt raw from Harry’s rough stubble rubbing against his arse for a week afterwards.

They had then started a bit of a relationship, with early morning phone calls for Draco. Harry coming to New York every so often to reenact their sexy calls in person. It had been fabulous, waking up every morning feeling like the best of your music was specifically for you. Draco can fondly remember walking down the street in Tribeca, looking up at the tall building, headphones blasting such sappy, happy indie music he’d never admit to, feeling as if he was the most in love lucky bastard in the world.

Then Harry had moved in and there was a time when he was looking for a job that he had played house husband, making food for Draco to take to work. Draco would wake up to his arse being eaten out, and they’d fuck before work. He’d come home to Potter cooking dinner and dancing goofily to some muggle punk band on the wireless. Then maybe he’d fuck Harry into the uneven plaster walls in the hallway.

Draco swipes his card, “Have a good night, thanks!” He calls to the cabbie as he steps out onto the frosty sidewalk, he shoves his hands into his jacket fishing out his keys. He passes by his bodega and contemplates going in for a tall bottle of water and stale bagel, but resists, wrapping his coat around him more firmly.

Harry was now in a bit of a funk, he’d gotten a job being a dog groomer and hated it. Draco had told him time and time again to switch jobs to something else, go back to school, do anything. It wasn’t like either of them needed the money, but ever the stubborn Gryffindor, Harry persisted, complaining as he’d get home late, complaining he had to work all weekends, complaining some dog had peed all over him again.

Draco keys into their apartment, a black cat is immediately at his ankles, rubbing against him and purring. He reaches down and scratches the top of his head, “Hey little boy, you miss me?”

He named his cat Scorpius because his mother had ingrained in him that to be a proper Black one must name their male children after constellations.

The cat meows throatily, still rubbing himself against Draco’s legs as he turns the flashlight on his phone on low. He doesn't want to wake up Harry, and they always sleep with their door open so Scorpius can go in and out as he pleases. He toes off his shoes, nearly falling over into the stacked bikes to his right in the process. He turns around, undoing his belt and hanging it on the hooks on the front door. Then after levitating his phone to follow in front of him a beat, he pads into further up the hallway, undoing the buttons of his shirt, throwing it on top of a pile of worn shirts on his black dresser. He strips down to his bright purple boxer briefs, throwing his trousers on top of the dresser and bright green patterned socks into the laundry basket beside the dresser.

Their apartment is modest, it’s a two bedroom, but they use the second bedroom as a living room because it’s New York and the designated living space is small. Harry always says that when Granger comes to visit he’s going to have her cast some extender charms. But it’s been two years and she still hasn’t.

No one blames her and Ron, they have two kids both not yet Hogwarts age. Draco hasn’t even been to England in that time and all he has is a needy cat. Oh, and Harry, he supposes.

He walks a few steps forward sneaking quickly and quietly passed the bedroom’s open door, and into their tiny hallway kitchen. It is literally one tiny usable space of counter, where an espresso machine sits, hogging all except a small sliver of the usable counter. Harry loves to cook, but hates cooking in this teaspoon sized kitchen. The only other counter is next to their sink and has their drying rack for the dishes. There’s no way they’d have a dishwasher paying this low of rent, which by any standards would be outrageously high. Harry had almost gagged at how much it is. But Draco had assured it was low and rent stabilized.

Draco pours himself a huge glass of water from the charmed self-refilling pitcher next to the espresso machine. He takes huge gulps, audibly guzzling down as much water as possible. He knows it’s the only way to cure tomorrow’s impending hangover, since he hasn't had time to brew any hangover potion and Harry’s rubbish at potions. His work is always craziest this time of year, and between that and all the parties for the different companies he works at, he definitely has not had any time to brew.

He sips the last of the water and grabs his phone out of the air, turning off the flashlight. Then he double backs down the slender hallway, to the bedroom. He slips into bed knowing he’ll be mad at not brushing his teeth in the morning, but not caring as his bare chest feels the soft sheets and mattress under it. He sighs heavily, risking a glance at Harry who’s wrapped up, well more like tangled in four blankets, but somehow not sweating. His breathing is steady, Draco’s notorious for waking him when he comes home this late, he can’t help but feel relieved he hasn't, he’s insufferable if he wakes up.

* * *

Draco feels his shoulder being repeatedly shaken, he hears the far away sound of what he thinks is his alarm.

“Fucking turn that shit off, Malfoy!”

Draco snaps awake, shoving his hand under his pillow, and silencing his phone. He’s still on his stomach, face turned away from the other man, his cat is repeatedly pawing at his bare calf with his claws for food. 

“Good morning to you too, sweetheart.” Draco says and he hopes it sounds more cheeky than groggy, but he’s not sure he’s succeeded. He pulls himself up, rolling over, his cat jumps off the bed yowling at him from the door. He walks out, realizes he really has to piss, and does a bit of a shuffle dance as he peels off his boxer-briefs. He throws them somewhere and quickly grabs the cat food, feeding Scorpius too much in his haste. Draco laughs a bit to himself, what a sexy sight he must be, bent over feeding his cat completely naked, and nearly pissing himself. He yawns as he levitates the bag of cat food back in place, then half runs into the bathroom. He pisses and washes his hands making sure not to look at himself in the mirror. With a long and somewhat dramatic sigh he could win an award for, he braces himself on the sink with both hands.

He feels pretty much how he’d thought he would, his head feels a bit like it’s full of cotton instead of a working brain. Gathering his courage he looks at himself in the mirror, all these parties and long hours are weighing on his face, he has dark circles under his eyes. His skin is somehow much paler than it ever was at Hogwarts, he blames it on the tall buildings. 

Draco is late, but what else is new? The apparation point closest to his office is still a 10 minute walk if he doesn't stop for coffee, which he must if he has any hope of survival. He casts a quick few charms to clean his teeth, and hair. He washes his face in the sink, touching the deepening wrinkles that are forming between his eyes and at the edges of his mouth from laughing. He prods at the bags under his eyes and thinks about casting some glamours.

“You’re hogging the bathroom.” Harry calls from the other-side of the door.

Draco fucking _hates_ it when they both have to be in at the same time. It seriously is the bloody _worst_ , their space is too cramped, they end up both being late. Well, Draco always ends up later than usual, and Harry who’s usually punctual ends up late and then bitches about it for at least two fucking _awful_ days. 

“Harry, you _know_ my routine. You should wake up earlier, this _always_ happens.” Draco says as he opens the bathroom door, and steps away, past Harry, knocking shoulders with him.

“Well, if you actually went into work on time, and didn't drink till Merlin knows when, you’d be gone when I got up.” Harry says, punctuating it with a slam of the bathroom door. Draco flips the closed door two fingers with a glare in a fit of maturity, then moves to his pile of clothes, he pulls out some grey jeans that he hasn’t worn lately, then walks to his closet picking out a light purple button up. He summons his socks and pants, because he always forgets his socks. He puts on all his clothes, tucks the button up into his jeans, as he walks over to the front door where the belts are and selecting his black one.

Harry is still in the bathroom, the shower is still running. Draco rolls his eyes, his hair potion is in there. He walks over to the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves to just under his elbows, putting on display the half sleeve of flower tattoos he’s gotten to cover up the dark mark.

He places a pale hand onto the handle and pushes it open in one steady movement. Harry is sitting on the toilet, hand moving in a rapid upward and down motion, phone in his other hand with a pair of female tits, which then cuts to a shaved twat on his phone. 

“Jesus, Malfoy!” Harry bellows, clicking the home button to clear the screen too late. The damage has been done.

He’s wanking to gals again.

The use of his last name hurts somehow more with what he’d been viewing. Draco summons the hair potion, it slaps against his palm loudly. “Classy, _Potter_.” He coldly bites out, making the man's last name sound as sharp as daggers. Then mimicking Harry, slams the door as hard as he can. Scorpius poofs up all the hair on his tail and runs down the hall to, Draco assumes, hide under the bed.

Draco smooths his hair in the bedroom mirror, it falls around his face perfectly now kinks gone, reaching just below his chin. He hears the shower turn off, he’s still smoothing a perfect patch of bang when he hears wet footsteps coming closer. He looks up meeting Harry’s eyes in the mirror.

“Draco…” Harry starts, he’s shirtless in just an orange towel hanging low over his hipbones, water droplets fall from the curls at the base of his neck onto his shoulders. The skin there starts to prick up into goosebumps.

“So, I’m Draco again, now?” One thin blond eyebrow raises. There aren't any words exchanged between them for a beat, it's awkward, unpleasant, so _bloody_ telling. “Right then, I’ll be back late tonight. Music library party.”

“Draco…” Harry starts again, but Draco strides forward past Harry, grabbing his black tote bag, with a graphic of a cat scratching a record, from the hallway floor. Without looking back, he unlocks the door and apparates once he hits the threshold of the wards.

* * *

Draco works in television. It's a very high stress, long hours, somewhat well paid position.

He loves it. 

He’s mostly a supervisor, and his favorite part of his job is finding errors during the color correction screening. Finding those small errors are his specialty, everyone knows he’ll find one frame long mistakes.

“Time code 41:45 there’s a subtitle that overhangs a frame too long, please cut with the cut.” Draco says, he’s been extra critical during this review after this morning. “That’s all my notes,” he takes out his pack of American Spirit’s and lighter, “do you guys need me or are we good?” His coworkers tell them he’s fine to leave, “I don't need to watch the shit that goes to international.” And with that he’s gone. He’s walking away, down the hall, placing his cigarette so it dangles loosely against his lips, bobbing precariously with every step.

Draco strides to the elevator bank, impatiently pressing the button several times. With a heavy sigh he grabs the cigarette and places it behind his ear just to have something to do with his hands, besides check his phone for what he knows are zero texts from Harry. He braces himself with his left hand against the wall, he remembers when they use to text all day, he’d get so worked up and hard at work just from Harry’s dirty texts and pictures he thought for sure he’d get fired.

“You feel like shit too?” Joe says as he approaches from behind Draco, the blond turns around and studies Joe’s face. The brunette man before him has a scruffy beard and is rather slight of frame, his blue eyes look tired, he has slight freckles over his nose and cheeks. Draco lets out another puff of air, as if to say no shit. “Where the fucks your coat?”

“Eh, I’ll be fine.” The elevator chimes and opens, Draco casts a quick warming charm as Joe files into the elevator ahead of him. New York City has a much more lax law on misuse of magic, which is to say so long as nobody sees, they don’t care. See something say something.

They chat idly about the shows they are currently working on in the elevator. Then they exit and smoke outside, bitching about their deadlines.

If there’s three things this industry is known for it’s alcohol, long hours, and complaining. Everyone complains about their job, but most of the time they actually really enjoy it. It’s a bit of a masochistic industry. Everyone's been abused as freelancer at some point (or most of their careers) and when they finally get shit company paid for health insurance they know they’ve made it.

Harry doesn't get it, he doesn't work the hours Draco does, he doesn't care about his job like Draco does. He just works to get paid, never working to really accomplish anything to make a career, to make a name for himself. His name is known, his name is not toiled in the mud in England. He can go back and go back to his life there. Harry's not a Malfoy.

He doesn’t get it. 

Draco takes a deep breath in of his cigarette, and finds himself wanting to bitch about Harry. But it’s a topic for over drinks, not over a cigarette at three in the afternoon. But he can’t help himself.

“Joe, are you seeing anyone?” Joe throws him a raised eyebrow, and exhales a long drag out of the corner of his mouth before speaking.

“You already know the answer to that Draco,” he pauses a beat before continuing, his tone somewhat cautious,“but if you're asking, I assume not all is well with,” he places the butt of his cigarette between his lips, inflecting his voice in muffled fake-awe, while doing half arsed air quotes, “the Chosen One.”

Joe is the only other wizard he knows about that works in his office. When he had introduced him to Harry, Joe had stuttered and dropped his full beer on the ground.

“I might have,” Draco thinks of how to word the next part, while their industry isn't the most professional he still tries to be, at least during business hours, “caught him wanking to girls, again.” Eh, fuck it.

He waits for Joe to react. Joe takes the last long drag from his cigarette, dropping it on the sidewalk and smothering it with his toe. “You waited till I was done to reveal that?” He says as he takes out another cigarette, Draco still has half his American Spirit left.

He watches Joe light his cigarette then with the same hand run it through his hair. “I’m not sure what to say Draco. Was she a redhead?”

Everyone knows that Harry’s redhead ex-girlfriend, who he still talks to, is a huge sore spot for Draco. Draco hates Ginny with fierce jealousy that’s truly unbecoming. Harry is bisexual, with his preference for men more steady, or at least that's what he had told Draco. 

“Didn’t get to see a face,” he pauses, “or any hair.” Draco shudders for effect, he inhales his cigarette, and looks towards the other man.

“Was he like…” Joe pauses, lips moving without speaking for a moment, as if he’s not sure how to word the next part. Then he stops, and says slowly, “laying… next to you?”

“No, it was in the bathroom.” Draco says, furrowing his brow as he looks down at his cigarette to avoid Joe’s eyes.

“So, uh… he was alone so…?” Joe says also pointedly looking away from Draco. Suddenly interested at anything completely not near the other man.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking for here, just wanted to say it out loud, I suppose.” Draco answers honestly, he looks at Joe through his blond fringe, not tilting his head up.

“I mean, you think about other men, right?” Joe says, punctuating it with a deep inhale and a shiver. Draco supposes it is quite cold and this topic is quite cringeworthy.

“I mean… sure? I more so would say I think of others then inserting myself in a situation?”

“Harry's bisexual, so it’s not like he’s also… uh?” He trails off, squinting at nothing. “Whatever Draco.” Joe snaps, like he’s fed up tip toeing around what he’s trying to say. “We all fucking jerk off to other people just because it was a female someone, doesn't mean you need to get all…” he trails off again, gesturing in a circling motion in Draco’s direction with his cigarette, “whatever this is? Jealous? Weirded out? Pissed off?”

“I’m not like such a prude…” Draco lowers his voice, “I know it’s normal to fantasize, but it's different when-” he stops. He really shouldn't get into his sex life or really the fact that there isn't one at bloody three thirty, outside his office building. They stand in a beat of awkward silence. Both not looking at each other.

“You guys have been so weird lately.” Joe tells him, with a single shoulder shrug, real concern seeping through the sentence. And really what an understatement. Draco changes the subject to Network deadlines.

* * *

His alarm is blaring, it finally rouses Draco enough to get out of bed and stop pressing snooze. There’s a moment where he hugs his phone to his bare chest and he honestly thinks about dozing again. What’s another 10 minutes when you’re already thirty late anyways? But in that moment Scorpius walks the length of the bed from his position at their feet and starts pawing at Draco’s face for food. He groans loudly, Harry is still somewhat asleep, somehow not yelling at Draco after the orchestra of snoozed alarms for the past hour.

He stands up, displacing the cat who jumps down meowing throatily at him. Scorpius runs ahead of him, tail up, Draco takes the first few steps towards the door and down the narrow hall. He scratches his bare back, making his way towards the cat food in yesterday's boxer briefs. Scorpius runs full sprint into the living room, his giant goofy leaps make Draco ponder the weirdness of cats as he pours some food out. He then turns towards the bathroom and looks up, “Fuck!” He shouts, cat food spills everywhere as he startles backwards, at the large eagle owl at his window by the record player.

“What the fuck!” Harry yells and he hears him get up, the annoyed rhythm of his padded footsteps as he stomps over, turning from the bedroom door frame towards Draco, entirely naked and half hard. “All your alarms and now- Merlin’s beard!” Harry yelps as he sees the owl, covering his dick as if the bird cares about modesty.

Draco steps forward, tentatively. Both his and Harry’s friends and family all talk to each other through mostly muggle means. Between texting, Skype, and WhatsApp it’s just easier and faster than large owls appearing in the _middle of fucking_ Brooklyn.

“It has to be the ministry.” Draco whispers, stock still. His mind reels, maybe he somehow violated his parole? What had he done? He couldn't think of anything, maybe a muggle saw him cast a warming charm? Maybe they changed lubrication charms from a class three to a class five? Maybe it was his mother, she was still incredibly young for a witch at 55 and Pureblood there wasn't much to worry about except accidents and slowly progressing illnesses . And he supposed everyone hating Malfoy's, but that's been going on for centuries.

“Go get it.” Harry says urgently, still covering himself with his hands. The owls starts to tap impatiently against the window. Scorpius who at some point had poked his head out the living room, ducks back into it.

Draco strides forward, pulling up the window and taking the letter that’s safely stashed into a satchel around the bird. The ministry used them for long flights or inclement weather. The owl hoots and takes off. The letter feels heavy in Draco’s hand and he feels his world tilt sideways, it’s addressed to him.

Harry waddles to the window, slamming it down on the sill and placing the curtain back in place. He places a hand on Draco's bare lower back, he grips the taller man’s wrist in the other and Draco realizes that he’s shaking.

They stand there for a moment, Draco’s fingers press in the fancy parchment. Harry’s hands are warm and spread heat into Draco, he has a feeling he’s using a warming charm. Then they walk, Harry steering Draco into the living room. They sit, Scorpius poking his head out from behind one of the curtains before disappearing again.

Draco breaks open the wax seal, he can’t stand the anticipation anymore. He pulls out the letter, it’s thick and multiple pages of different parchment colors and weights. When his eyes land on the words, he scans them quickly and breathes out a sigh of relief. He immediately feels guilt twist his stomach at feeling relieved for a second. Lucius Malfoy’s will and letter of condolences from the Ministry sits in his hands. His face feels hot and he isn't sure how he should feel.

This man was never really a father, so obsessed with power and Pureblood culture. Draco wonders sometimes what he would say if he knew he was gay. If he knew he was dating Harry Potter. If he knew he had tattooed over the red faded burn of the dark lord’s mark. Maybe he had known, the news of his and Harry's relationship had run for multiple weeks due to Rita Skeeter’s penmanship.

Now, he stands conflicted. This man is his father, but he never knew Draco really. They’d interact over Draco’s studies, or Quidditch, or their hatred of Potter. Lucius had been strict bordering on abusive when Draco had let him down or done something wrong. Draco had always strived to make him proud as a child, eventually taking the mark and staring at his father as he was burned and tasked with the impossible. Losing himself and his childhood innocence because of his expectations. While, ultimately Draco's choice, at the time it hadn't felt like he had any options.

He couldn't forgive that. He couldn't pretend he was okay with his father and answer his messages. The last one he had received had been a few days prior, his mother had visited and recorded a voice message of Lucius for him. He hadn't listened. They had been estranged for close to ten years, around the time he had moved here.

His death didn’t feel real. Draco felt the same, maybe just shocked? Maybe just a little angry at feeling guilty about their relationship? It wasn't like it really changed anything, really?

The death was unexpected, and the report was vague. Draco suspected the death wasn't natural, but couldn't bare to read more dry Ministry bullshit for a man he wasn't sure how to feel about. He pushed the papers towards Harry, who took them with a very serious face, despite being completely naked. He flips through the papers and reads in silence as Draco counts his breaths.

“He left you a few vaults and some possessions in the manor.” Harry says eventually, strained, unsympathetic. He looks at Draco who leans to his left, placing his elbow on the arm of the sofa and leaning heavily onto it.

“I don't care.” Draco mumbles into his hand. There’s a long pause, one where Harry stops flittering with the pages and just stares at the other man.

“This says your mother is supposed to collect his remains from Azkaban today. Do you-”

“I don't want to fucking go.” Draco snaps, looking around the living room, he’s sure he left a pack of cigarettes in here.

“Accio cigarette pack.” Harry says specifically, after a gross handful of ash and cigarette butts he knows to be specific. They fly from somewhere else in the apartment to his outstretched palm. Draco is already leaning over to grab the long lighter they keep in here for candles. Harry passes him one, and the takes the foot-long lighter and helps Draco.

“I can't fucking go.” Draco repeats, smoke punctuating every syllable. “I don't even really feel anything, but annoyed and bloody guilty.” He puffs the cigarette, inhaling and exhaling too fast. He feels like he can't breathe.

“Then don't go.” Harry says, again it’s plainly and emotionless. For whatever reason this annoys Draco and places the cigarette in his lips. He uncurls from the arm of the sofa and throws his head back, lifting his feet to rest on the coffee table. One arm lazily falls over the arm rest the other into Harry’s bare lap as he stares into the ceiling. Cigarette smoke floats up in his peripheral vision before dissipating.

“I already said I’m not.” Draco says, the filter of his cigarette bounces on his bottom lip, stuck there. Harry sits beside him not saying anything. There isn't anything to say since Draco knows he’s not sorry. He finishes the cigarette in silence, not really moving except to pull the cigarette away from his lips to ash it.

“Are you-” Harry starts, he’s biting the nail of his left thumb. Something he only does when he's truly worried.

“I have to get ready for work, I’m so late.” Draco says as he stands, he feels off balance. Harry doesn't say anything still, just watches as he walks out of the room.

* * *

The funeral for Lucius comes and goes. A week passes and Draco throws himself into his work. He throws himself into his social life, he feels reckless and restless. He has to do something at all times to feel occupied not with the guilt of not going, of not answering, of not talking. It itches beneath his skin, begging him to scratch at his inner forearm.

His mother had understood because she always does.

So he leaves work and calls his friend Bradley, who’s very attractive and unemployed. They get shit faced together at three o’clock on a Tuesday. His friend is confused why Draco called him, they use to just get drunk and high, then hook up. Draco tells him about Harry and nervously laughs, saying he can't do the latter part of their usual plans. Bradley tells him about his new apartment and the weed he has from California. The amount of not sly mentions of the short cab distance to Bradley's Gramercy apartment makes Draco feel uneasy.

He remembers the amazing sex they use to have, Bradley grinding him into the kitchen counter, Draco’s legs spread wide one over his shoulder the other wrapped around his waist. Bradley flirts with him the whole time, making innuendos about fucking him and other men at any chance. The conversation always veers back to sex no matter where it starts. And Draco’s reminded why he stopped hanging out with him.

* * *

Draco is out again. It’s his third night in a row. He texted Harry a long novel using his father as an excuse. Harry texted him back passive aggressively, Draco had chosen to ignore it, instead opting to throw back his drink and order another in silent protest. Joe has already left, it’s just him and some people from other companies including the music house who’s hosting the event. He leans his back against the bar, his drink sweats against his right palm, it’s cold against his fingers. He usually takes whiskey neat, but has opted for an Old Fashion because he’s already a bit sloshed.

A thin man walks up beside him at the bar, Draco doesn't recognize him from last year. He must be one of the new music producers at Extreme. He reaches his hand out and orders a beer from the bartender, then rests his hip against the bar, leaning close to Draco. 

“Hey, I’ve seen you around the parties this year. I’m Rich.” He reaches out a dark skinned hand, Draco grips it looking down at their contrasting skin colors and feeling how soft his skin is. His mind goes for a second to the first time he saw Harry’s dark skin against his pale pink cock.

Fuck, he’s drunk and hasn’t been laid in months.

Draco smiles at the man, then makes semi painful small talk. The man insists on exchanging numbers under the pretense of work. Draco just doesn't care he looks down at his phone, guilt seeping through him, debates with himself on handing it over. He orders a last drink knowing it should’ve been two or three whiskeys ago, but throws it back anyways. He stumbles a bit, Rich steadies him with one of those thin hands.

He still hasn't brewed hangover potion. But at least tomorrow is Saturday. He honestly isn't sure why he’s still out, he just knows he doesn't want to go home. Rich’s hands are still on his waist and hip, and he finds himself chatting for a few fuzzy moments, he’s not sure if it's been five minutes or an hour. There’s a smile on the other man’s face, he looks drunk too, he feels the other man’s hand slip into his pocket, grabbing his phone and typing in his contact info, while Draco wavers in his spot without the other man’s steadying hands. The phone makes its way back into his left hand and he looks down to see the angry red bubble of 12 unread text messages. He opens the ap and sees ten of them are from Harry. He closes it, slipping the phone into his pocket, scrubs his hand over his face then flags the bartender. 

* * *

Draco wakes up and doesn't have any recollection of getting home, but his head hurts and he has to rush to his bathroom to puke. Regret fills his pores as he purges his body of all liquid left in his stomach. He doesn't think he made too much of an ass of himself, but anxiety floods his brain and he can't think of anything else. Joe texts him, he ignores it. Nicole sends him a picture of what he assumes is her in bed, but it just looks like a pile of patterned blankets with some brown hair poking out. There’s a moment when he thinks about texting back, but he can't bring himself to open the floodgates telling him what he did last night. 

Harry hasn't texted him since yesterday at three am, he’s working the early shift, and Draco has to make himself presentable before he comes home. The blond forces himself to puke again as Scorpius scratches on the door trying to get in. The world spins as he sits up, feeling both sick to his stomach and hungry. Why does he do this? He’s not 19 anymore.

He places his feet against the cool tile and forces himself to stand, opening Seamless on his phone and ordering a bagel with cream cheese and two large waters to meet the minimum for delivery. Then, with what has to be all his effort, he stands opening the door to a very curious Scorpius. Stumbling he makes his way to the kitchen sink, he promised Harry he’d do the dishes, so he levitates them and repeatedly casts scourgify, until he deems them clean enough and sends them flying into the various cabinets.

This simple set of first year spells has him all but heaving, he shoves his wand behind his ear before falling onto his hands, raking in breathes. Without much warning he pukes in the sink, he pulls out his wand and vanishes it. He’s hunched over and starts to sob uncontrollably. The tears leak out and roll onto the floor as he presses his eyes into his wrists laying against the counter.

He’ll never speak to his father again, and he realizes that he fucking _cares_ . It startles him. It fucking _hurts_. He sobs emptily into the backs of his hands, and he can’t stop. Draco collapses onto the floor, laying like a rag-doll in the middle of the hallway. One knee is bent at an uncomfortable angle, half his leg falls asleep as he lays there. Scorpius eventually plops down half on his chest purring.

He thinks about the good things they had shared. Watching quidditch matches together every summer holiday. The time he had made his father laugh so hard over the anecdote of Greg and Vince eating bewitched floating pastries. Making his father proud over making it onto the Slytherin team second term. Eating green apples from their orchard fresh off the trees together. Walking the grounds only to both have to run away from some of the meaner peacocks.

Draco stops crying at some point, his ears and neck are still moist. He finds himself staring at the ceiling, mind no longer reeling. He brings a hand to idly pet Scorpius. The restless reckless feeling is still there, but seems further away.

Where the hell is his bagel and water?

* * *

The next week Harry has Sunday off in a scheduling mix up. Draco finds himself sitting next to Harry on the beach in early January. It’s cold, but Harry’s wandless warming charms are a thing of legends, right under the whole killing the dark lord with a bloody expelliarmus. Harry has brought warm Butterbeer and they sit in silence.

It’s not awkward, just a bit tense like they both have too much to say, but don’t want to say anything. Draco sighs heavily and takes a sip of the warm drink, it’s too sweet for his tastes, but it takes him back to time spent at the Three Broomsticks with Pansy, Blaise, and Theo. She was always all over him, complaining about professors or her father, nursing a pumpkin juice with her head against his shoulder. He can remember her snorting laugh that’d slip out if something actually amused her. Blaise had been flippant, always looking for some girl or guy to charm into doing his homework for him or get him into the prefects bathroom. Draco and Theo would share secret glances from across the table, having had a very on-again, off-again, secret relationship throughout all of school that mostly consisted of rushed, toothy blow jobs.

Sometimes, especially in sixth year, he’d go with just Crabbe and Goyle. So preoccupied and honestly scared shitless. At the time he liked their lackluster conversation, something to fill the space, but nothing to concentrate on. Relishing in their fiercely loyal to Draco, but in the back of his mind knowing they were really scared of Lucius as well as their own fathers.

Harry hums beside him bringing him to the present, away from Hogwarts, back to Coney Island. He looks over and Harry is staring at him.

“Honestly Draco, we’ve been together what, three years, yeah?” Harry’s hair blows in the wind, it’s trapped under a maroon beanie, but the long curls blow into his eyes and over his wind-reddened dark skinned nose. He looks so cute, Draco just wants to kiss him.

“Yeah, almost.” Draco hears himself respond, the weight of it feels heavier than it should be. He isn't sure if Harry is going to break up with him or propose, he could really see it go either way.

“We really should be better at this.” Harry looks away from his eyes and lifts his chin into the air, looking at the wispy thin clouds that hang low in the sky, it almost looks like they could fall and just be fog over Brooklyn, but they don't move, just hang stagnant, mocking them.

“I’m damaged, Potter.” Draco says, it’s a bit too bitter and raw sounding even in his own head than to feel like the joke he intended it to be.

“I think in our year,” Harry hums again, reaching his left hand to the stubble that’s grown too much on his chin. He scratches at it for a moment before taking a sip and continues, “we all are, yeah?”

It’s Draco’s turn to look away and hum in agreement, so he does and avoids Harry’s green eyes that are tracking the emotions that flitter across his face. Since leaving England it’s been harder to school himself without completely shutting everything down. He partially blames it on Harry’s influence and the rest on the lack of Lucius’s presence.

“We use to be so happy.” Harry says, and it’s sort of wistful. He stares at Draco who fiddles with his hat, making it cover his ears more. Then there’s a sigh from the other man, he turns away again, fidgeting with the paper around the bottle, peeling it off in uneven jagged strips.

“What happened to us?” Draco finds himself asking earnestly. It hurts, but so does this relationship a lot of days.

“I rely on you too much? I’m lonely.” Harry says, tearing off another strip and letting it go in the wind.

“And I feel guilty that you're lonely.”Draco says, putting his unoccupied hand on top of his hat. “Lucius’s death kinda made me a bit of a crazy person.” Harry whips around to look at him again.

“Draco, I love you, but you’re so bloody out of control and weird sometimes.” Harry’s voice wavers, there’s a moment that Draco thinks he can look at him, but he can't bring himself to, so instead he plops his Butterbeer in the sand and reaches for his cigarettes. He needs one to get through this moment. Harry waits until Draco finally looks at him, blowing smoke in his general direction. “You really have to quit, those things are gonna kill you.”

“What do you want me to say to that?” Draco retorts, feeling prickly. “You knew I was a smoker and apparently a fucking weird out of control one.” Draco pulls off his slate grey beanie, it lands in the sand, he runs his left hand through his hair. He didn’t put any product in it and it hangs in slight waves past his ears. He looks to the right, there’s a couple that’s making their way closer to them. They look so _fucking_ happy, hand in hand, matching in those slim winter jackets runners use.

“Fucking unfair Draco, I want to try, and I get the shit with your dad, but I know it’s not all that.” Harry pauses to chew on his thumbnail for a brief few seconds. “And sometimes you make it almost impossible, you know?” Harry’s staring at him, all heated angry intensity. Draco knows what he’s saying is true, but it still stings that old pride portion of him. He hasn’t had it easy and it hurts to have his faults poked at by someone he loves even if it is out of concern.

He inhales the cigarette before exclaiming, “You think you make it easy? You’re not innocent either.” With each word a small puff of smoke releases, until he’s exhaling a thin line at the end.

“I didn't bloody say- Merlin Malfoy!” Harry’s still staring at him, Draco stares daggers at the dumb couple who look so _in love_ they must be only a couple months in _max_.

“Well, I want to give this a go, too, you know!” Draco feels himself all but yell, he puffs his cigarette too fast, it’s already a third gone. There’s another long beat, the couple is closer now, Draco can almost make out the woman’s face, any reason to not look at Harry.

“You gotta fucking talk to me!” Harry explodes beside him, he’s all antsy, probably wanting to throw or crush things, as he glares Draco who keeps avoiding his gaze. “You’re a fucking mess and I’m not saying I’m not either, but we can't keep existing together this way!”

“You gotta stop being so bloody stubborn and out of control angry at my existence.” Draco accuses, exhaling smoke furiously. “Also, fucking fuck me!” The couple has come within apparently shouting distance, they’re both looking at them. “Welcome to the fucking freak show!” Draco yells waving, his cigarette hanging limply from his lips, then flips them off, they look away and walk faster.

“You’re such a prick.” Harry moans, covering his face with both hands, pulling his knees to his chest and all but burying within himself here on the beach.

“You’ve definitely always known that, Potter.” Draco sighs and flicks his cigarette away, then looks at Harry who’s brooding into his sleeves, his knees are draw up, arms slung around them. Draco can't see his mouth as the bottom half of his face is pressed into his legs, but sees his eyes are staring ahead at the rolling waves. “Okay, I’m going to try. I really am no more secrets, Prefects honor.”

“I’ll fuck you tonight if you want.” Harry bursts out, still curled up in himself.

“Such a romantic, Potter.”

“What do they say in those Star Trek romance novels you read online?” Harry asks turning a blinding grin resembling a cat, Draco sputters a bit, thrown. “Take me in your battleship?”

“Oh my god!” Draco exclaims, turning pink all over his face instantly. “It’s not Star Trek! It’s Star Wars.”

“Oh sorry, your royal nerdiness , I didn't know there was a difference.” His eyes get that glint that tell Draco he’s purposely fucking with him.

Draco huffs, mock annoyed, still pink, “You don't get it.”

“Get what? Draco Malfoy, scary ex-Death Eater is a huge sci-fi geek?” Harry smirks mischievously.

“It’s basically cannon! It’s destiny!” Draco exclaims passionately. He reaches forward and grips the collar of Harry’s jacket with one hand, dramatically. The other man grins at him sideways before laughing soft and fond.

“God you’re a fucking dork. I love you.” He turns and kisses the inside of Draco's wrist, head still tilted. Draco pulls his hand back as Harry settles back still staring, his face sets into a serious line. “Seriously though, trying again?” Harry asks muffled, as he tilts his face in his arms towards Draco, one eye is covered, the other peeks at him. His hair moves in the slight breeze, and Draco sighs with just how cute Harry can be.

Harry pulls his head back, untangling from himself, and reaches for his Butterbeer. Draco rolls his eyes, but grabs his as well it’s chilly to the touch, but he doesn't mind.

“Trying harder.” Draco replies and clinks their glasses together, they both take a large swig of the cold sickly-sweet butterscotch beverage, Draco gags. “God this drink is utter shite, how did we ever drink this as children.” Harry laughs, it’s warm and loud and so _Harry._ He then leans over and places his head on Draco’s shoulder. They sit and watch the waves roll into each other, crashing against the cold winter sand.

  
  



	2. Mid 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought that was Ravenclaw?” Harry drops his hand and his eyebrows draw together. As if trying to remember the bloody _sorting hat’s message_ from _first fucking year_ and ignoring that they are trying to engage in intercourse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter endnotes for sexual trigger warnings, as well as how to avoid explicit scenes. However, there are brief mentions of sexual acts and thoughts throughout the story.

**CHAPTER TWO: Mid 2011**

It’s a few months later and with it has come the warmer wetter weather of spring. True to their word, things have been a bit less strained. Draco is trying to take control of himself, make himself not drink until he can't remember. It’s hard and he knows if he saw someone he’d probably be on some mood stabilizer, but that thought sends him into a bit of a panicked state. Making him want to drink more and bury himself in work.

So obviously, he’s fine.

It’s a rainy weekend, naturally Draco is inside with Scorpius in the small of his back, he’s on his stomach lengthwise on the couch, feet up and crossed at the ankles. The couch is too short to fit his tall frame, and he honesly barely has enough room for his kindle that he exported a fanfiction to. It’s a particularly sexy scene, but he’s reading it as if it was the back of a shampoo bottle. He’s been a bit lazy these past few months and has his glasses perched on his nose instead of brewing his eye correction potion, it’s obscenely expensive to buy and time consuming to make. He has fanfictions to read afterall.

Unlike Harry’s dorky round eyesores, these are small silver wire frames that the man in the store had said made him look smart. He had in turn flirted back and went on to have a two month relationship with him. If you call meeting up and shagging each other a relationship. All pre-Harry, of course.

Harry is due back at any moment, he called to tell Draco he was headed home and was bringing dinner. Draco shuffles, stretching out his tiring back with the extra weight of cat, Scorpius looks up at him as he shifts, yawning widely. It isn't long after Scorpius jumps off, making his way down the hall before he hears the dead bolt. That cat really does have some sort of intuition, it must be his keys or the way he walks up the stairs.

Draco is a bit wound up, last night he and Harry had gone at it for the first time in a couple weeks. And Draco wants more. He’s clad in just a pair of slim skimpy pants, he’s laying with his arse up and pushed out. He's sore, but wants Harry to fuck his thighs, or ideally if he’s honest, let Draco fuck him.

When Harry walks into the room, he laughs loudly at Draco’s position. “You want another go?” His eyes are alight with mirth and a bit of lust.

“Am I that obvious?” Draco asks dryly, pushing his arse further up into the air. Harry just laughs, leaning forward and cupping one cheek in his hand. “I’m still really sore from last night. You could fuck my thighs? Or want me to toss you off?”

“You're such a-”

“If you call me a tosser, Potter, you’ll be tossing yourself on the sofa, alone.” Draco cuts in his tone sharp, but Harry just laughs and shakes his head. Removing his hand after a light sqeeze.

“Can’t I just-” Harry starts.

“I swear to Morgana if you so much as utter a word of that _awful_ potion.” Draco turns onto his side, looking at Harry who’s still poised behind the back of the love seat.

“What’s wrong with it?” Harry whines, petulance leaking into his voice.

“You bloody well know how I feel about it!” Draco says, his erection waning, and Potter is seriously pissing him off.

“Well, I think it’s fine.” The other man intones, looking down at Draco, placing one hand on his right hip. As if he’s taking a real stance.

“Well, _I_ think it feels like I have a leaking messy twat between my arse cheeks!” Draco crosses his arms over his bare chest, nearly falling backwards off the couch. He definitely wouldn't seem stern sprawled on the floor.

“Come on, it’s not that bad!”

“Yeah! It’s bloody _worse._ This isn't up for negotiation. Whatever bloody possessed the inventor to make it last 24 _fucking_ hours is purely an evil sod!”

“So, suck me.”

“I’m not going to have you pound your cock into the back of my throat for 10 minutes, not get off and acquiesce to you using that arse loosening potion because I’m impatient with foreplay.” Draco’s nostrils flare, he knows the drill they’ve been at this before. He knows himself. “Slytherin’s are smart, you know!”

“I thought that was Ravenclaw?” Harry drops his hand and his eyebrows draw together. As if trying to remember the bloody _sorting hat’s message_ from _first fucking year_ and ignoring that they are trying to engage in intercourse.

“We’re definitely more cunning than you Gryffindor lot!” Harry goes to say something, but Draco interrupts him immediately. “If you bring up Granger when my dicks out, you will not be having any part of me for a month!”

“Okay! Okay! Merlin Malfoy!” He says, hands outstretched in a gesture of calm. Draco finds it insulting. “What if I’m really gentle?”

“What part of ‘I don't want to do it’ Are you not understanding? It’s not consensual anal!” Draco harps, sitting up, leaning against the arm rest before taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples.

“I don't want to do anything you don't want to-”

“Well all these past few minutes have really shown that. Why don't I fuck you? We’ve done me like eight to your one.” They're supposed to be in an equal relationship, and yeah Draco loves getting fucked but sometimes Harry's too rough. And yeah Draco likes it while it happens, but after it can really linger. His arsehole burns sometimes for days, his hole and inner cheeks flaming from Harry's rough stubble. Additionally, he’s no longer a young man, so his back can ache sometimes for weeks after, he sometimes swears he’s bordering on having scoliosis. Do all people who frequent anal sex have shit lower backs from being bent?

“I’m still sore from all that flying a few days ago.” As if this statement requires sympathy.

“And you wanted to do me after your assult on my arsehole last night?”

“Well, I do you more and thought maybe you were use to it? Like looser. You’re always kinda loose when I finger you.”

“Are you saying… I have a loose arsehole?” Draco drawls slowly, scandalized.

“I didn't mean it like a bad-”

“Are you suggesting that my hole is so _used up_ it’s just permanently-”

“So, thighs?” Harry interrupts, looking panicked.

“So! So!” Draco feels as if his mouth is full of air, he sputters for several seconds. “So, nothing Potter! Wank yourself off! Fuck you!”

“I’m sorry! I just wish it was as easy as with fucking a female sometimes. Like we just have to make out and touch and whatever it’s easy to go in? Not painful and…” Harry trails off at the pained look on Draco's face.

“Sorry, being with a man means that we have to prep and that being with the famous Harry Potter doesn't just make me instantly _wet_ and _ready_.” Draco stands up, rushing around the room looking for his joggers. “The great Harry Potter a foreplay skipper. Necessary fingering is too much for Harry Potter to get his jollies off. What a lucky guy I am! What a lucky gal Ginny must've been!” Draco tugs on his pants, his voice high and furious. “Did she ever even orgasm?”

“What the fuck Draco! Of course-”

“ _Don’t fucking answer that.”_ Draco seethes, his joggers are on and he rushes out of the room towards the bedroom. He bloody wishes this apartment was bigger.

 

* * *

 

It’s four in the afternoon when Joe comes to his office door, he crosses his arms and leans his long thin torso against the door frame.

“Where’s your assistant?” He asks casually, Draco knows he wants something. Joe isn't someone who just makes small talk to make it, he’s a bit of a Slytherin in a lot of ways.

“Getting lunch.” Draco replies, finally spinning in his chair to face the other man who’s all raised eyebrows. “She eats late.” Joe just hums in response because he really doesn't care when Victoria eats lunch.

“We’re all going out after this dumbass company happy hour.” Joe tells him, it’s not so much a request as it is a statement, but he knows where this is going. “You in?” Joe’s inspecting his nails, not looking at the other man.

“Of course.” Draco scoffs.

Draco looks at his phone and he knows he should just text Harry to let him know, sooner rather than later about the party. He could maybe even invite him to the bar. But he knows the other man won't come, he never really does. Blaming it on the cats and not on the fact he hates crowded areas after the war. Cramped spaces and too many faces in one area make Harry a bit uncomfortable, something about knowing the room? Draco can't really remember, it was when they first started fucking.

The happy hour comes and people drink free beer and watch clips from the different shows the company is working on. It’s a dumb moral booster that no one at the company really believes in but the executives. Draco makes his way to Joe who then motions for Draco to follow and they step outside, both immediately lighting cigarettes. Nicole walks through the revolving door and asks where they're headed. Joe points at the bar that’s in their building, she groans something about a bad date with one of the staff she doesn't want to see. Joe snarks something back that Draco doesn't hear, he pulls out his phone, lit cigarette dangling loosely against his lips. He seriously thinks about texting Harry, but he’s only going for one or two and Harry won't be off for a few hours. Guilt seeps into him, weighing heavy on his stomach that Harry doesn't have many friends here. So instead he slips the phone back into his pocket and inhales smoke.

Nicole wins and they end up taking a trek a few blocks over to the dive bar where all the draft beers taste a little like stale dirty lines and it’s cash only. They love this place mostly because it’s surrounded by posh douchey bars, but somehow it’s still surviving in Tribeca. Plus a Guiness in New York for five dollars on a Friday night? The Taphouse a few blocks away charges double, the pricks.

Draco walks over to the bar and asks the others what they want, he orders for them and hands out drinks saying that he’s got the first round. There’s a chorus of thank yous that he waves away with his hand.

It’s three beers later and Draco looks down at his watch, it’s a bit before 9. Joe and Nicole are in a heated debate on which arcade themed bar in the city is better. As much as Draco would like to interject that the one on Saint Marks is, he knows that if he gets pulled in Harry will get home before him. He ducks out without saying bye, and stumbles slightly as he hails a cab. After a few minutes of telling the driver where to go and to take the tunnel not the bridge, he sits back and looks out the window. The lights blare brightly as they make their way to the westside highway, Draco’s head feels slightly sluggish from all the beer and lack of sleep. He fishes his headphones out of his tote bag and put on some Ladytron.

It doesn't take too long to get through the tunnel and over the highways, the roads are pretty traffic free this early into the evening. And Draco is keying in, turning on the light and petting Scorpius who greets him at the door. His headphones are still on and he bops along to the electronic upbeat music as he toes off his shoes and makes his way down the hallway to the living room.

It only takes another 10 minutes before he hears the loud metal clang of the deadbolt as Harry comes home. Draco pulls off his headphones and turns on the television and PlayStation, then starts to look through his phone for dinner options. Harry’s headphones blare loud rock music and then it’s silent as he throws his bookbag down with a loud thud.

“Beer?” Harry calls out, and Draco can hear him unzipping his bookbag and opening the fridge. He assumes Harry's bought a six pack.

“Sure, Ginger House?” Draco asks, clicking on their go to restaurant. The food is decent and the delivery is speedy.

“Yeah, get me a drunken noodles.” Harry calls out as the fridge closes, he bounds into the room and drops himself heavily on the sofa. Brooklyn Lagers in both hands. Draco orders then grabs the beers from Harry, opening them and handing one over.

They sit and Draco turns on Fraiser, something light for them to unwind, Harry laughs and leans into Draco. He then turns to look at him.

“You smell like beer. Merlin, you’re drunk!” He accuses, sitting up and staring at Draco.

“I’m not we had a beer at work.” Draco says, knowing it’s not really a lie, but kind of a lie? A really stupid lie. He should've just texted Harry, he wouldn't even have cared.

“What the fuck, just fucking tell me!” Harry looks hurt, and scandalized. “Am I a fucking monster? Why can't you just tell me _anything_?”

It’s a valid point, and Draco really isn't sure why he can't seem to tell Harry these stupid things. It’s not even like he’d really be that angry. He just feels this guilt about Harry being lonely here, and it just feels wrong to rub it in that he has friends outside of each other.

Draco just shrugs and takes a sip of beer, “I feel so guilty, and I don't know how to not feel like this...”

“I don't mind! If you just tell me!” Harry and Draco turn back to their television, Frasier is doing some very cringey stuff with some lady on vacation. Draco forgets everything and wallows until the food arrives.

 

* * *

 

Draco is laying in bed on his phone, Harry is playing some video games in their odd shaped living room. They usually spend time together on the sofa, but Draco had wanted to skype a friend who moved to California a few months ago. After finishing, he was feeling lazy and didn't want to walk the 30 steps.

Sometime passes and Draco sheds his trousers and shirt, so he’s only in his pink striped boxer briefs. It’s warm in the bedroom, and he slips over to his side of the bed, not against the wall. He’s still on his phone looking for a particular raunchy Star Wars fanfiction to pour himself over before heading over to see Harry in the other room. Harry racks his knuckles over the door, and Draco clears his phone screen and confirms he can come in. There’s a pause where Harry just stands, leaning against the door frame with weary eyes.

“Are you okay?” Draco finds himself asking, looking over Harry who’s in a similar state of undress, just with a unzipped hoodie on top of his bare torso. He always is a bit on the chillier side than Draco, sometimes Draco wonders if it has something to do with the drafty, dank dungeons he spent most of his adolescence.

Harry doesn't reply and instead groans, heaving himself off the frame and stepping diagonally towards the vacant part of the bed. He throws himself, face planting into the mattress. There’s another pause as the mattress bounces, one where Draco isn't sure of he should fill with more questions. Sometimes Harry loses his temper over his questions, it’s problematic because Draco is concerned, but also doesn't want to start a fight he didn't mean to.

Harry grabs at one of the loose fleece blankets they keep on their bed, they both are blanket hogs and can't share so there are four. He pulls it over half his upper body and over his head, somehow without moving his face from it's smushed suffocating position.

There’s another stretch of silence that twists Draco’s insides with anxiety. He is about to ask again if Harry is okay or to offer him a back rub he isn't sure which, when Harry murmurs something unintelligible into the sheets that need changing.

“I’m sorry Harry, you're…” Draco cuts himself off and bites his lip when he hears Harry sigh annoyed.

The blanket shifts revealing some tufts of messy hair as Harry turns his head, towards the wall, away from Draco.

“I made a fucking terrible choice.” Harry says, it’s a resigned voice, it’s almost toneless. It’s eerie to hear from Harry Potter.

“What choice?” Draco feels his heart beating in his throat, he wonders if Harry has had an affair or if he has somehow done something terrible one night Draco was out late. Maybe he’s just being over dramatic about his video game.

“Coming here.” Harry says, the air around them stills, Draco chokes. “I’m so depressed and angry all the time.” Draco reaches out and runs his hand down Harry’s neck and spine, it’s half covered by the dumb Nintendo blanket Harry loves.

“Do you ever think about seeing someone?” Draco asks softly, he knows he’s not one to really talk. He knows that he’s treading lightly, that Harry’s bound to snap at him soon as always. Harry groans discontentedly, he shifts, Draco pulls his arm back. He’s pulling his knees up, still half buried under the blanket and facing away from Draco, just now in a smaller ball.

“Sometimes,” Harry sighs, “but sometimes I also think about…” he trails off. Draco doesn't reach out, sometimes Harry needs space to say things. “I think about if I wasn't here.” Harry shifts his face so that he’s pressed into the mattress. “Would you take care of Scorpius, when I’m gone?”

Draco feels a fluttery thing in his chest, while is stomach drops and aches fiercely, it feels similar to when his father had asked him if the disfigured Harry was Potter. He had known it was, but knew he didn't want to name him. The panic rises as he lets the words hang, the air feels thick, if he opens his mouth he might choke on it. It stings, he can’t swallow, and he feels like he can't breathe. He isn't sure if Harry is implying he’s leaving for England or if he thinks about killing himself. He’s too emotionally stunted for the implications, he doesn't know what to say.

“Harry, I… I-” Draco stops, and swallows around nothing, “I love you.” Harry hums, it’s a sad note. “I think we could both go to counseling? I just-”

“No, I don’t want to.” Harry cuts Draco off. The shift in atmosphere is immediate, he’s pissed off. “I don’t need some doctor to tell me-” he cuts himself off with a huff. “I fucking died already and it wasn’t so bad.”

“Death, w-what I thought moving-” Draco rushes out, then pauses to collect himself a moment. “That’s not a normal-” Draco starts, but Harry is now flinging the blanket up, and sitting up on his knees. His eyes are lit up and his hair looks wild. In another situation it would be an absurd image, Harry ruffled, zip up hoodie open to reveal his dark skinned slim torso with nothing but briefs on.

“Whatever Draco!” Harry explodes, “it’s fucking fine. I’m just so bloody miserable here.” He runs a hand through his messy hair, making it stand ever further on end, “I bloody moved here for you!” Harry punctuates the you with such venom, Draco recoils backwards, Harry gets up, leaving the room. He slams the bedroom door then the living room door a few seconds later. Draco sits, unsure what to do, and just buries himself in all the blankets.

 

* * *

 

When Draco found out their local underfunded theater in Brooklyn is playing Star Wars Episode Four in theatres he makes Harry take off work. Harry still hasn't seen any of the movies, since his first attempt to watch Episode One with Ron shortly after the war. Ron had been hooked because it was a television, but Harry had left unable to take it anymore.

They sneak in beers and a small pint of ice cream. Draco watches Harry from time to time, seeing his reactions, hoping to hook him. Harry pushes Draco’s face away whenever he notices him, grumbling between hurried bites of half melted ice cream to pay attention to the movie. There’s so much fondness written in Harry’s face it’s remarkably embarrassing.

When the movie ends they vanish the melted pint and beer bottles before walking out into the humid but cooler city air. It feels as if rain will break over them at any moment, and Draco feels his shirt cling to his under arms. Harry is rattling off his favorite moments from the film, making sweeping gestures as they walk down the sidewalk. They continue their way towards the subway as Harry runs quickly ahead and turns back, brandishing an invisible light saber at Draco as he spins around towards the other man. Draco finds himself laughing and eventually pulls Harry towards him for a kiss.

A few drops of water hit both Harry and Draco as they stand, Draco looks up. They're standing under a fire escape of a 6 floor apartment building, he can't help but hope the water was either from an air conditioner or rain. They're passing by a store that appears to be close to closing when Harry pulls them in. The sky breaks and Draco watches as rain begins to pour down in what hopefully is a quick summer storm.

“Let’s just look around for a bit.” Harry suggests with a shrug, still grinning from watching the movie. As they walk up the tight ailes of what Draco can only assume is a knick knack store, how places like this stay open is beyond Draco. Can you really make enough money for rent selling cheap toilet brushes and grocery carts? Harry stops with a dramatic gasp.

“Oh god, what is it Potter.” Draco drawls, stepping forward towards where Harry is admiring something that must be garbage.

“Can we adopt them?!” Harry intones, pleading, voice an octave higher.

In front of them are what Draco can only describe as two of the saddest, battered dinosaurs with fake succulent plants glued to their backs. There’s a comically bright green tyrannosaurus who’s missing a hand and two of his three toes on one foot. There’s a neon blue brontosaurus who’s missing half her tail and a whole front leg. The sad fake plant is drooping to the side, glue visible.

“Is this your savior complex?” Draco asks, lingering on the words with fake disdain. The glimmer and overall fondness he has for this man ruining the tone.

“I must save them! They need a better home!” Harry cries, reaching forward and grabbing them with a huge toothy grin.

Draco sighs dramatically, then makes a vague shooing hand motion. “If you must.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a stifling hot Sunday morning, 11:45 is still morning after all. He still finds himself in bed, lazily petting Scorpius, who’s taken residence on his chest, waiting until the cat decides to leave. Or when his bladder wins over his laziness. It is then that it strikes him furiously, Harry’s shift is shorter today, something about the store heater? That can’t be right, it’s summer? Abruptly, he sits up, displacing the displeased cat who yowls before dashing away.

He stomps his way over to the kitchen sink, preoccupied with how much cleaning he has to do to keep the peace before Harry comes home. Bending over, he opens the cabinet absentmindedly, there’s a nest of plastic bags from take away shoved and scattered inside. He trys to pull out one and several come out with it, spilling on the floor. Scorpius appears, curious about the cabinet he’s not allowed in, pawing cautiously at the bags that have fallen. Draco groans and untangles one of them and shoves the web of them back inside hastily. Bending over and being hung over just makes the world tilt slightly in an incredibly unpleasant way. But he powers through, cleaning the litter box and tossing the shopping bag after tying it off. He then picks up the few dishes left on their coffee table before walking over to the sink and starting the water.

Harry must be rubbing off on him because he realizes he’s a wizard and there are spells for this shit. He quickly spells the dishes clean, vanishing the leftover food and after a few scourgify spells he thinks it’ll do. Harry claims cleaning dishes the muggle way calms him down and is more satisfying, Draco thinks he’s a bit of an idiot sometimes. But an endearing idiot.

Draco lifts the remote to Harry’s knock off Roomba vacuum, for some reason Harry swears by this thing that doesn’t properly clean corners or behind doors at all, but whatever, it’s easy. Draco points the remote under the bed and hears the unmistakable 3 note startup chime, then the rolling of brushes and wheels. Half the time it just stupidly gets itself tangled up on cords or shoe laces, then beeps annoyingly until it’s rescued.

No wonder Potter loves it, ever the hero.

It’s a few hours later, long after the knock off Roomba complained in beep form all the way back into its home under the bed, that Draco finds himself almost naked in just grey boxer briefs, laying like a starfish on the hardwood floor of his living room. One leg under his coffee table, the other sprawled out to the side, both arms outstretched to his sides. He has his favorite record playing on the wireless. The floor is the coolest place in his apartment, the ac broke an hour ago and his half-arsed cooling charms aren’t cutting it. He needs Harry who’s amazing at temperature spells. Scorpius had looked so content, with his legs outstretched on the floor, Draco decided to try it. It’s cooler, but not that comfortable.

Draco lifts his legs into the air, so they are crossed at the ankles, knees bent in a butterfly position. His lower back is too boney and he can feel them dig into the hardwood uncomfortably. The record ends and he’s left in heated silence. Harry likes it when Draco lays on the floor and acts all improper.

There’s a loud sound of metal on metal signifying the dead bolt opening. Footsteps make their way down the hall and there’s blaring music bleeding from Harry’s headphones. He waits for it to come to a pause.

“Flip the record for me?” Draco calls out, reaching out to grab his box of cigarettes and lighting the end of it a bit clumsily from his position on the floor.

Harry flips it and replays the A side, REM fills the apartment, and over half the first song plays before Harry pops his head into the living room.

“Beer?” Harry asks eyes flitting about the room before falling to the floor, seeing Draco, cigarette hanging between his left index and middle finger loosely. An ashtray placed slightly above him, to prevent Draco from almost burning the floor. Again.

“Of course.” Draco says dryly, and Harry looks giddy, disappearing for a bit into the other room before coming back with two PBR’s. Draco rolls his eyes, “Could we _be_ anymore of a Brooklyn cliché?”

“I like this song.” Harry responds back, not answering Draco as he sheds his pants and t-shirt, taking a large swig of shite beer. Then lays down, his head in the crux of Draco’s right shoulder and arm.

“Mmm, I know.” Draco sleepily murmurs, his eyes already closed, as he thinks about putting out his cigarette and napping. Maybe he doesn’t need the beer, he’s still a little hung over.

“Hey, don't fall asleep!” Harry warns, but light hearted. “You know how I get when I see you being a pleb, like the lot of us.”

“I just jerked off like,” Draco hums thinking about how long he’s been on the floor, “30 minutes ago, so you’re gonna have to roll me over and fuck me.” Draco states plainly. Harry sits up quickly, Draco startles and opens one eye, lazily bringing his cigarette to his lips. He inhales then pulls the cigarette back from his lips, and Harry nabbs it, it’s barely even smoked. He takes a short drag and then straddles Draco, reaching out and putting the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“You know I hate it when you smoke so much,” Harry says smoke escaping on every syllable, before latching onto Draco’s neck and collarbones like sucking on them gives him life.

“Well, you know I won’t quit.” Draco says breathily, Harry has always been quite good at this stuff. Emotional stuff they’re both wrecks, but this although more seldom, has always been fun.

“You are a Slytherin after all,” Harry says breathily, kissing the other man’s chest and making his way towards his left nipple. “There's probably smoking lessons in the common room.” Harry says absentmindedly before attaching his mouth to Draco’s nipple, sucking on and licking the hard nub. Draco exhales a groan and feels himself harden in his pants.

“Fucker or fuckee?”

Harry snorts out a sharp laugh against Draco’s wet skin. “Such romance, Draco.” He licks Draco’s nipple again, and pants a bit against it. “While usually I’d make you go down on me then ride you in this position…” Draco moans at the thought, Harry detaches, pulling Draco’s legs up over his shoulders and pulls at his boxer briefs, they catch on his knees. “I have a feeling you’re still loosened?” Harry slides two fingers up Draco’s arse with embarrassing ease, it’s soft and loose, still slick from the lube he used with the vibrator. “God you're still wet.” He licks his lips.

Harry hooks his fingers and pushes against Draco’s prostate, milking out a groan. He’s still a bit sensitive, but it feels deliciously tense. Like he’s teetering slightly into overstimulated, and it almost hurts.

Harry withdraws his fingers, and pulls down his briefs enough for his cock to spring forward. It boobles and he slides the hand that was in Draco’s ass over the shaft. Harry murmurs something under his breath and Draco watches as he lubes himself. This has to be the most practical use of wandless magic.

“I could probably fuck you now, and you’d be all slick and slightly tight around me.” Harry told Draco, reaching his fingers forward again and slipping two from his left hand hand and then a third from his right, pulling at his hole, and stretching it open further. Draco withers on the floor panting roughly, his lower back hurts from the hardwood.

“Fuck me then.” Draco moans, opening his legs as wide as he can while still perched on Harry's shoulders, knees caught in his pants. Harry accios a pillow from the sofa and leans backwards, Draco shimmies the rest of the way out of his boxer briefs using the toe of his right foot and hooks his ankles together around his neck to keep them from falling to the floor. Harry then places the pillow under Draco’s ass to give them better leverage. He then reinserts his fingers and looks down at where they are connected to Draco, it makes him squirm as a flush breaks out over his cheeks and tips of his ears.

“You’re so loose, what did you do today?” Harry asks as he puts a fourth finger in to splay Draco open with both hands. Draco feels himself blush even further, it warms his whole face and creeps down his chest. Harry chuckles in delight at him so red.

“Well, we used that potion last night, so it’s still…”

“What did you do today?” Harry repeats roughly with arousal, eyes blown wide.

“That new, uh… v-vibrator you got me… from that sex new york tv show?” Draco starts and cuts off as Harry contracts his fingers and buries them in deeper. He then spreads his fingers out again, leaning forward, closer to his hole to look at him. It’s pink and stretched tight around his fingers.

“Merlin you’re filthy. I can basically see inside.” Harry states then looks up from his hole into his eyes, “I fucking love it.”

He retracts his hands and grips onto one of Draco’s ass cheeks, spreading him so he’s on display. He palms his own erection again, sliding more conjured lube onto himself before sliding forward and guiding himself towards Draco’s asshole. They both moan as Harry is able to seat himself entirely in one steady thrust, not meeting much resistance.

“Fuck, Draco. You were so ready for me.” Harry gags, he’s already pulling back and thrusting into him again roughly. It was just last night that they were intimate with each other. Draco had been impatient and used the potion on himself, admittedly a bit heavy handed with it. It made the effects more intense, more pliable. It feels disgusting. Well, mostly disgusting.

Draco breathes harshly, throwing his hands over his face embarrassed, his breath feels muggy and hot and _yes._

“H-Harry, please!” Draco hears himself call out, he’s erect and leaking against his stomach, still untouched and ready for his hand.

“It’s been like two minutes, Draco.” Harry chastises, still thrusting in making sure to hit Draco’s prostate. Draco reaches a hand down to his own erection, wanting to bring himself closer to the edge, but Harry growls at him. He stops thrusting and bats Draco’s hands away. Harry knows that Draco can get impatient during sex.

“I want to see your hole while I fuck into you, flip over on your knees.” Draco obliges, his legs are shaking, he moves the pillow so his face is pressed into that instead of the hardwood. It’s a bit uncomfortable on his knees, but it's forgotten quickly. “Hold your ass cheeks apart.” Draco does as instructed and pulls himself apart, he feels himself flush again as the chilly air hits his slick spread rim.

“God you're so filthy, so abused.” Harry leans forward and licks a stripe over it before roughly leaning forward and fucking into him again. Draco feels his own fingernails scrape roughly at his ass as Harry pounds a sporadic rhythm. There’s nothing but the sound of groans and Harry’s body slapping into Draco’s.

“Spread yourself wider, I want to see your arsehole while I cum into you.” Harry groans, “I need to see you painted mine.”

“Fuck.” Draco blushes, but obliges, pulling himself open to the point where his crack and asshole burns from the strain. Harry pulls back and pauses, reaching a finger to touch where they’re connected, inserting the tip on his finger alongside his cock.

“God you’re fucking beautiful all flush and wanting me.” Harry’s voice is thick and there’s a moment where Draco just breathes through the heavy feeling in his chest. He’s not sure if it’s emotion or just the massive amount of cigarettes he smokes daily. He pushes his ass up and makes sure to pull himself as far apart as he can, presenting what Harry wants. “Fuck Malfoy, I love your ass.”

Harry backs off and starts to slowly fuck him, watching himself disappear into Draco’s hole, it moves with Harry’s thrusts, so deliciously taught but somehow still loose over his cock. He’s rubbing Draco’s prostate over and over again, and Draco feels himself approaching the edge of his orgasm. Harry’s finger presses further in alongside his cock, massaging lazily.

“H-Harry, please.” Draco begs again, his cock is still untouched, the tip has leaked a line of precum to the wooden floor. Harry reaches strokes him slowly, once, twice and then embarrassingly fast Draco cums, asshole clenching around Harry.

“O-oh!” Harry sputters, as Draco’s ass milks his cock and in just a few shakey thrusts Harry cums inside him. They both try to catch their breath for a moment, and Harry pulls back, slipping out uncomfortably. Draco still has his ass spread lazily and he’s about to let go when Harry sinks three fingers into him. They squelch loosely around the cum and lube and Draco startles with a whimper, and blushing all over his body.

“H-Harry, wha…?” Draco starts, still dazed, but Harry sinks a fourth finger in.

“Spread yourself.” Harry commands, and the tone indicates no possibility of refusal. He spreads his rim and his arse feels embarrassingly loose, the cum inside him making obscene noises with every thrust of Harry’s fingers. He feels it trickle down to the back of his balls. Harry flattens his fingers into a line and pushes some of the cum to slide out, over his crack and onto the hardwood floor.

“Again…? This is embarrassing…” Draco whispers, while not in the heat of the moment the act makes him feel flush and uncomfortable and not in a good way. Harry repeats the motion, Draco’s knees protest and he feels weak and hot from distress. “Hurts, please. I can't.” Draco tries to push himself into a more comfortable position, but he finds himself immobile, unable to pull his arms down from his spread stance.

“Your hole wants more.” Harry states gruffly, and holds him with his other hand. “How many guys have seen you this open and full of cum?”

Draco’s breath catches, he feels uncomfortable and panicked, but there's something else too burning him. His chest and face feel pressure of an emotion he can't recognize. He told Harry about his early escapades in New York single life in confidence and this stings his eyes and burns his throat. He feels Harry push in deeper, hooking his thumb into his rim. It hurts as he roughly pushes in and he feels the panic rise up his sternum, to the back of his throat, under his eyelids. His knees ache fiercely and his rim spreads to an uncomfortable level, it feels like he might tear.

“You could probably easily take two cocks with this potion.” Harry states as he pulls his hand back before changing the angle and making sure to rub harshly against Draco’s overstimulated prostate. “Would you want that? Have you already done that?” Draco grits his teeth, as he feels himself stretch too wide over Harry’s knuckles, the rubbing is too much after having just orgasmed and is painful and sensitive. The panic leeches out of him in a huge, wracking, broken exhale.

“Harry s-stop, I-I don't want- I… please!” Draco sobs, he feels two hot tears escape one rolls down his nose. He’s humiliated. Shame seeps out of him as he cries messily into the couch pillow, still unable to move to wipe his eyes and nose or hide his face. He sobs brokenly, and feels feverish with mortification.

Harry releases him from the immobility charm, and starts to apologize as Draco scrambles away. He’s up and leaking a trail down his inner thighs, on the apartment floor as he all but runs to the bathroom, locking the door. He sits on the toilet lid, bringing his knees up to his chest and lets out a soft sob into his naked legs. His knees are red and hurt. Scorpius stirs from his place in the towel rack half asleep, yawning widely.

Draco hears Harry tap on the door lightly, he’s apologizing through the door with stumbled words. There’s nothing Draco can say back, and it stretches between them, he continues to cry.

“Some-sometimes I just wonder where you are, you know? When you disappear at- at night.” Harry admits, it’s low and half muffled by the door.

“Harry…” Draco wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands, his asshole burns and he starts to check to see if he’s torn, his fingertips come back tinged pink. “I’d never… cheat on you.”

“I know!” Harry snaps back, making Draco hug his knees and close his eyes tightly.

“It’s not an excuse, I just…” Harry breaks off, “I’m sorry.”

What feels like an eternity and several wracking breathes later, Draco opens his eyes. He sees Scorpius is getting up, arching his back in a stretch as he meows curiously.

“It’s fine.” Draco calls out from behind his legs, he hears the scratch of Harry’s nails on the door in response. The last few verses of Perfect Circle warbles in the apartment as Scorpius rubs his face against Draco’s toes.

 

* * *

 

Today had been stupid. Draco drops his tote bag unceremoniously onto the floor, toeing off his shoes in the process. They fall in disorderly bounces, one turning over onto its side, the other hitting the floor in a loud smack. He doesn't care, usually Scorpius would greet him at the door, but today he must be too lazy and comfortable in the sun.

“Harry, you here?” He calls out, raking his fingers through his hair, with what can only be described as a dramatic heavy sigh. There’s no reply back, so he strides forward towards the interior rooms of the long hallway apartment. He hits a barrier of magical fizziness, it stings the air and feels almost electric. Harry’s back is facing him and he stops walking, “Harry?”

Draco shifts from foot to foot awkwardly in the hallway, a couple feet away from Harry standing stoically still at the kitchen sink. Draco presses against the wall, peering at Harry.

“Harry…” he almost whispers, “what… what’s wrong?”

There isn't reply, just white knuckles on his left hand gripping firmly against the counter, the other tightly gripping his ceramic coffee cup. Harry then crushes it, splitting his hand open before throwing the shattered and bloody remains into the sink. Surprised Draco shrieks, feeling like somehow this is his fault. The hairs on his arms and back of his neck stand straight up. The lights flicker, and it feels like there’s a strong breeze in the hallways, swirling around Harry, the cabinet doors rattle.

“Why do you have to destroy everything when you’re mad?” Draco yells, taking a step backwards from Harry.

Harry hangs his head lower in response, saying nothing, breath now labored.

“Why is this your response?” Draco continues, voice a bit steadier, still stern. “Just fucking talk to me!”

“I don’t know.” Harry said, lifting his bloody hand and running it through his hair. Blood smears on his forehead, into his hair, over his ear. He then looks down at his bloody hand as if in shock he hurt himself. They don’t talk, the magic crackling around them lessens, the cabinets still. The silence lingers, it’s one where Draco isn’t sure if he should fill or if Harry will interject and offer insight on what just happened. So instead the air hangs heavy between them, the sound of their breath and the subway rattling by meets Draco’s ears.

“I moved here for you, away from all my friends, Ron, ‘Mione-” Harry makes a choked sound, he clenches his wounded hand into a fist, “and Teddy, just everyone! I fucking hate it here.” Harry informs him, not for the first time. He’s still facing away, hands limply resting on the counter. “What if I just wasn't here anymore?” He ask, breathless and soft. The question has no true correct answer, so Draco let’s it take up space between them. They stand together only a few steps away in the thin small hallway that is their kitchen and Draco can't help but feel further apart.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a week and things between Harry and Draco are still strained. Draco is supposed to meet Harry’s coworkers for drinks and bowling, but he find himself at a particularly great music party. This is part of his job he rationalizes, and after the last drink his friends had ployed him into another. He takes a cab where he feels on top of the world and when he meets Harry, he looks at him with disappointed eyes.

“I wish you had been comfortable enough to tell me that you had another party.” Harry tells him. He looks at Draco. He’s drunk but he doesn't think unmanageably so? He’ll have his two drinks with Harry and his coworkers… and be okay?

He hasn’t eaten dinner, but thats okay. He’s drank this much before. But everyone around him is sober. Maybe this hadn’t been his best thought plan.

He drops the bowling ball.

Okay a bit embarrassing but not ya know out of the realm of possibilities of things that happen.

He drops his drink.

He probably didn't need that beer anyways.

Then he’s in a secluded arcade game? He’s bent over the chair, Harry’s dick is buried in his ass. The opening music to Star Wars blares and he reads “Star Wars Pod” on the screen. He’s not sure how he ended up here. Hadn't he just dropped his drink? Did they win bowling?

Then he’s waking up alone in the bed. He stumbles out of bed and finds Harry on the sofa. Draco tries to talk to him. But Harry rolls over and says nothing, making Draco retreat back to the bedroom, where he immediately falls asleep.

He opens his eyes as he awakens to the sound of the front door closing. Draco is left alone to worry. He moves over in bed, looking down at Scorpius, who is at his feet, cleaning his paw.

Draco pulls out his phone and texts a picture of Scorpius and then a simple “I love you.”

And waits.

He waits two hours before Harry texts him an apology and that he wishes things were different then they are. Draco isn't sure what to do with that, so he ignores it, instead drawing a bath and reads gay Star Wars erotica on his phone until the water is cold.

 

* * *

 

When Harry tells him he can't live in New York City anymore, Draco can't say he's surprised. It’s teary confession on Harry’s part, and when Draco reaches out and holds Harry, feeling his flat chest against him, the beat of Harry's heart pounds into him. Harry’s unruly black hair tickles his nose and neck. He inhales the scent that is his Harry deeply trying to cling to this, commit it to permanent memory.

This will be the last time.

 

A few days later, Draco comes back to his somewhat emptier flat, he has more closet space, and somehow even the empty hallway reminds Draco of Harry. He runs his hand along the warped wall, feeling the up and down of uneven plaster. The apartment is haunted by memories of them together, after all they had moved in and choosen this place together. He steps into the living room and clicks on the telly, wanting something to fill the space that isn’t silence and lack of Harry. Draco sits down on the right side of the sofa, there’s a Harry shaped indent on the left side, that doesn’t seem right to disturb. It’s only a few minutes before he can’t sit there anymore.

He walks forward to his bar and pulls the bottle of firewhisky off the cart. His grasp on the bottle falters slightly as he finds himself crumbling to the floor. Draco had stayed strong for Harry because Harry needed to be the one in pieces. Harry who is overly emotional, quick tempered, and stubbornly still loves Draco. Harry loves him despite all his selfish behavior, his stunted emotions, his boarding alcoholism. Harry still loves Draco and it had made it near impossible for him to leave. Draco had understood why Harry needed to go, never having been happy here not with his friends and family. So, Draco helped him, was emotionally cold to help Harry leave.

But now, as Draco sits on his knees, looking around their apartment, he lets himself fall apart.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two has two explicit scenes.  
> First is not an actual sex scene, and just a verbal conversation negotiating the positions of potentially having sex (mentions of: thigh sex, use of vibratior, use of potion to ease sex, anal sex, blow jobs, masturbation, non-consensual anal sex, brief mentions of past heterosexual sex)  
> To avoid explicit parts when you reach “Am I that obvious?” Draco asks.” Skip to “Don’t fucking answer that.” Draco seethes, 
> 
> Second (anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, non-consensual touching, non-consensual fingering, use of potion to ease anal sex, use of magic to immobilize unwilling participant, only verbal mentions of double penetration)  
> To avoid explicit parts when you reach “Such romance, Draco.” Skip to Draco hears Harry tap on the door lightly,


	3. Early 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was…” Harry trails off. It was what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all the comments, kudos, & bookmarks! You all are the best. I proof read this chapter and felt like it needed to be expanded & then broken up into two. So as you can see the chapter count has risen. I felt like if I don't post this now, I'll have to wait till the weekend. I might need another couple weeks to expand & proof read the next chapter. The explicit scenes always slow me, since I can't type/read them on the subway. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! Thank you again!
> 
> As always: See chapter endnotes for sexual trigger warnings, as well as how to avoid explicit scenes. However, there are brief mentions of sexual acts and thoughts throughout the story.

**CHAPTER THREE: Early 2018**

It’s several years later, Draco is in his late thirties, when the call comes that brings him back across the pond. He’s been in New York all this time, still in his haunted rent stabilized apartment. But as time passed and days turned into months turned into years, the ghosts of Potter Past have dissipated into wispy fleeting thoughts every so often. 

But being in England brings a rush of war memories. Thoughts revolving around Harry and his father. He tries his best to not think about them as he walks around the manor, striding through the areas where Voldemort had walked. Where his aunt had tortured muggles. 

He turns and find his mother in her bedroom, she looks older than he last remembers. His mother’s cancer has gotten worse and she feels like she can’t run her annual charity event she holds for the survivors of the war. Many years ago after the battle and after they all had their trials she set this event up in late August to begin to rebuild the Malfoy name. Draco had been at the first one then came sparsely after that. 

Narcissa had asked him to help run this one this year, so he took a few weeks off the help prepare. His mother was supposed to be resting, but instead she was owling this witch, and that wizard all preparing for the event. 

“Mother, I’m here please let me help you.” Draco pleads for what has to be the hundredth time, leaning the side of his head against the bedroom door frame. He feels all of fourteen, the position reminiscent of when he’d plead for a new broom or for her to talk to father about  _ expectations.  _ The main difference he sees now is that her dyed blond hair has a centimeter of grey roots showing. She needs her hairdresser witch to make a visit. He makes a mental note to contact her when he has a better grasp on his mother’s schedule. If that's possible. 

“Dragon, can you make sure the elves know what to make for the event?” She holds out a list between two fingers, her right hand never stops writing on a separate piece of parchment. Draco peels himself off the door frame and takes the list. 

He steps outside the door and summons one if the elves he thinks her name is Nipsy? She claims that his mother has already given them this list and Draco groans. Of course. He walks down to the hallway to his room, it’s like he’s taken a time-turner back to his life before the war had ended and just after. To when he was a lost child. Before moving to New York and proceeding to party his teen and twenties away. 

His Slytherin banner still hangs above his green and black bed. The black curtains are draped elegantly from thick old dark mahogany posts. His Falmouth Falcons poster still hung up with a mediocre sticking charm, his father hadn't been pleased. Saying that he’s ruin the ancient wallpaper, which secretly had been Draco’s goal to destroy anyways. 

The desk sits fairly untouched, a bad sketch of Potter being flushed down a toilet sits on top. The animation he had been playing with at the time still plays on loop, if a bit more lazily than originally. Potter clumsily flushes down before he appears above it again. He had drawn and charmed it as a test before painstakingly charming all those Potter Stinks badges. It had taken him many sleepless nights that he'd never admit to. 

He thinks about Harry and how he would’ve laughed into Draco’s neck, teasing him mercilessly about the silly drawing from his childhood. But he had never taken Harry here. He rationalizes that this home is not his, but knows that was never the reason. The black cloud of war memories loom below. 

* * *

Over the next few weeks he does little to help his mother organize the event. Instead offering her the emotional invisible support she doesn't even realize she needs. It’s like he’s her larger, less subservient, sarcastic house elf. As he walks around the ballroom, he has to say that it’s a far cry from what it had been all those years ago. 

Her words to him when he had walked down this morning are stuck in his head. She had been sitting at the kitchen table, the one he would eat breakfast at as a child with her, her hair witch was busy correcting her overdue grey hair. Styling it elegantly and efficiently, as Narcissa sips her morning tea and reads the Prophet. 

“Draco, I’m so glad you were here these past few weeks. Now you can carry on the tradition of our biggest banquet next year.”

Draco had almost dropped his tea cup, instead he plopped down across from her. In typical Malfoy fashion pushes down his dread and pain and asks her about today’s news. 

* * *

The event looks fabulous, as finishing touches are placed by house elves carrying large silver platters of food under stasis charms. His black leather shoes clack on the marble floor, his formal attire is a bit of a mix between muggle and magical. The dark grey fitted suit pants and button up he’s wearing is one he wears for special smoozy work functions or fancy events like coworker weddings. But his mother had made him change into “at least an outer dress robe.” So, he had changed his blazer into a matching dark blue formal robe. 

Guests start arriving, his mother greets them at the door, holding onto Draco and introducing and fawning over her New Yorker son whenever possible. A young dark skinned man, around Draco’s age that he doesn't recognize enters, he kisses both his mother's cheeks and says hello in a heavy spanish accent. She then makes a show of walking him over and introducing Alvaro to Draco. 

The two of them exchange some small talk and ultimately start chatting about their careers. Draco finds out Alvaro is from Spain and works with children here in England in entirely spanish speaking wizarding schools, so children grow up bilingual. They come to a still in conversation, Alvaro looks at him with crinkled eyes, still smiling at a joke Draco made. The pause isn't awkward, but Draco still feels compelled to fill it. He finds himself commenting on his Mother’s stubbornness about everything but the wreaths and flowers he picked out around the ballroom. 

“I’d love to see all your decoration work, would you escort me around the ballroom, Draco?” Alvaro says in a thick accent, his tongue rolls over his name, extending the r in an admittedly sexy way. There’s a brief thought about what he’d sound like repeating his name, breathless in bed. 

“Of course.” Draco chokes out, he’s definitely getting ahead of himself and instead offers him his arm, which Alvaro takes, lightly grabbing onto his left bicep. 

They stroll around, Alvaro makes comments about the different arrangements that Draco had helped put together. Mentioning the different meanings of the flowers. Draco’s impressed, surprised at his vast and accurate knowledge. The only reason Draco knows any of this is because it had been drilled into him at a young age. Flowers are very important to Pureblood courting traditions and arranged marriages to prevent genetic disorders from inbreeding. He wonders if Alvaro is a Pureblood from Spain and glances over at his mother who’s been tracking his steps every so often with a knowing look. Well he does certainly fit his type physically. 

“You know I do end up in New York quite often,” Alvaro tells him, his eyes still scanning the ballroom. 

“Oh? Maybe I’ll have to show you around New York next time you’re in.” 

“I have always wanted to see Brooklyn.” Alvaro says with a heated gaze, Draco finds himself leaning towards the other man. There’s a moment and Draco isn't sure if he should grab Alvaro and kiss him in front of all these posh families. He scans the floor, it’s not like being gay is frowned upon anymore, but people are still a bit reserved. He finds his eyes flit over to another man fidgeting across the room. 

“Would you excuse me, please?” Draco asks, already stepping away, not waiting for a response. 

Draco finds that this walk across the great ballroom takes longer then he remembers. Eyes never leaving the dark haired bespectacled man who’s in tight posh green dress robes. 

“Harry.” Is all Draco can get out once he’s within distance of the other man. Harry, of course, doesn’t startle, instead he turns a slow smile spreads across his features. 

“You usually aren't around for these events.” Harry states, tipping his glass of whisky so the cool liquid slides past his lips. His throat bobbles as he swallows, Draco can’t help but stare, remembering the taste of Harry’s sweat glistening skin. 

“I had to help mother.” His voice sounds breathless and husky to his own ears. Draco sucks in a slow and calming breath, placing one balled up fist into his robe pocket. The man in front of him grins. 

“You're uncomfortable.” Draco sputters, indignantly. “Draco Malfoy, caught off guard by me?” Potter laughs a breathless sort of laugh. It’s mean, it’s inconsiderate, it’s stupidly sexy. Draco mind flashes and he remembers just how sexy Harry could be in a zip up hoodie and pants. Then out of them.  _ Fuck.  _

To say that Draco’s caught off guard is an understatement. He’s been following Potter’s love life through whatever rag Rita Skeeter was writing for. Asking Pansy to send over as many magazines she could get her hands on. Harry was apparently a few years into a on-again, off-again relationship with Oliver Wood, and they had been trying to conceive for over a year and a half. Since neither he nor Wood were purebloods it made conception a lot less likely. Last he had read, which had been earlier this month from the Witch Inquirer, Harry and Wood were on the outs, and Harry had kicked Wood out of his townhouse. 

“I suppose I just wasn't expecting to see you.” Draco tells the other man truthfully. He had seen the guest list but Harry was unconfirmed, and after indulging in as many tabloids Potter was in. He wasn't sure he’d come. 

“If you ever bothered to fly or rather portkey in, you’d know I haven't missed any of your mother's events.” Harry looks at him, his face tilts slightly to one side. 

“You know me, Harry. Work always comes first.” Draco says, he looks away, a waiter passes with champagne, Draco grabs one, lifting it to his lips and avoiding Harry’s eyes. He wishes it was something a bit stronger. 

“But you are here now.” Draco meets Harry’s eyes because he knows that hopeful tone. “You left New York even if it was briefly to see to your mother.” Harry reaches out his left hand and fiddles with the edge of Draco’s robe. “That counts, especially for you, you know?” And then Harry’s looking at him, all wide green eyes. And it fucking hurts all over again. He hasn't let him go.

Draco feels his heart beat rise and a flush rise over his chest, through his cheeks, into his ears. It almost deafens him the amount of hurt he knows he’s caused this man. And definitely his mother. Such an unexpected emotion running through him makes him turn his face away again. That fact is Harry is impressed he left New York and his job to take care of his dying mother. He’s so selfish taking care of his mother for a few weeks is uncharacteristic. 

That hurts.  _ Fuck.  _

It makes him feel so inhumane. Especially for a man he loved so deeply, but the sting of selfishness comes back. 

“How are you doing?” Draco rasps to change the topic away from him. 

“I’m doing alright, for me work is work you know?” Harry steps back, “I’ve been dating Oliver Wood, he was an older Gryffindor from school, for a while.” Harry looks away and runs a hand through his hair, “We... er- we actually just broke up, or rather we’re taking a break.” Harry shakes his head and looks at the whisky in his hand. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Draco says, reaching out and squeezing his free hand for a few seconds before letting go. Harry looks up through lidded eyes. 

“No, you aren’t.” Is Harry's instant response, and he at least has the decency to look sheepish at his own outburst. 

“You're right, I’m not. Fuck him.” Draco says, gesturing a bit wildly and almost spilling champagne everywhere. Harry laughs, it’s deep and relaxed, it almost hugs Draco in it’s warmth and familiarity.  _ Fuck. _

“It’s alright, Draco, sometimes things just need time and space.” The sentence hangs between then, and Draco isn't sure what relationship Harry is referring to. 

* * *

It’s late and Draco is far too drunk. He’s standing watching the last of the crowd mingle with his mother at her table. They are all congratulating her and bidding her well. It hits him in that moment that according to his own Mother she will not be here next year. In a year she will be gone. 

Suddenly, the ballroom is too hot, the walls feel like they are falling in on him. He grabs a bottle of firewhiskey from the bar and flees into his favorite balcony. The fresh air is cooler tonight than usual, it quells his panic slightly, but the emotional floodgates are already open. And he can’t seem to place them back. He can’t catch his breath, he feels like he’s going to suffocate. 

His mother is dying. She will not be here in a year, maybe even three months. He grips the bottle with white knuckles and tosses back a large mouthful. It burns down his throat, and he feels a few tears slip down his cheeks. He fumbles with placing the bottle on the balcony, it almost plunges over, but he grips it in time. He places it on the floor and produces a cigarette from the inside of his robes. He lights it with a weak  _ incendio.  _

The smoke fills his lungs and comforts him for a minute before his brain kicks back in. 

Seeing Harry had been hard. 

So, of course, Potter stumbles out onto the balcony. Draco hastily swipes at his cheeks and eyes, but Harry knows him. He knows what he looks like when he’s upset, when he’s crying, when he’s devastated. The other man is immediately wrapping strong arms around him. 

Draco tenses for a second before his resolve dissolves and he leans into Potter. The other man smells of whiskey and what is just Harry. All these years and he’s jerked back to that last moment in his apartment in New York. The unruly hair has escaped the Sleekeazy's hold and tickles his nose, musky with Harry. 

He needs this. He needs Potter to be inside him. He needs to be inside Potter one more time. Just for tonight. He needs that comfort. 

Draco’s unsure who kisses who. But he ruts against Harry, his hands seeking skin. 

“Not here.” Harry begs, it’s cold and exposed, but Draco would fuck him over the edge giving a salute to the Minister of Magic if it meant being with him a last time. If it meant not pretending he doesn't miss him. 

Fuck he doesn't care he needs him now. “Fuck me.” Draco whines. 

Of course, the one time he wants the twat potion he doesn't have it. 

“Draco, fuck.” Harry is all over him, kissing him sloppily, missing his mouth, down his chin, over his cheeks, then back over again. His lips are wet and leave a moist trail that chills from the evening breeze. 

Draco tangles his fingers over both their trousers, undoing belts, and zips and pulling his own pants down to his mid thigh, stumbling at the sudden confining garment. Harry pulls him forward with one hand, pushing Draco’s hand out of the way and pushing his own trousers and briefs down in one motion so they rest just under his balls. 

Harry’s then urging him to turn around, bending him over the balcony ledge, the stone is cold and rough and he pushes back to avoid his dick getting trapped against the stone. His arse comes in contact with Harry’s hot and leaking cock, they both moan. Fuck. 

“I know.” Harry whispers, his voice is close to Draco’s ear, breath hot and wet. He’s whispering a wandless lubrication spell, and soon he feels slick, chilled fingers against his hole. Two push past any resistance and force Draco open. He wills himself to relax, they already are making him feel so full, his breath hitches. It hurts. 

Harry’s breath comes in pants, pressed against the shell of his ear, it’s familiar and does something warm and clenching to his chest. 

“So tight, relax.” Harry breathes, Draco feels himself tense more. The other man is then placing one hand on his lower back, rubbing circles, Draco can barely breathe. He feels the resolve in wanting this pulse forward then dissolve as he wills himself to relax into the stretching burn on Harry’s fingers. He wants more than just this. 

“Just fuck me.” Draco begs. He can't anymore and he needs a reason for the tears in his eyes. He needs a reason to sob bent over the cold stone. He needs the reason to be physical pain and not this. Not this.  _ Not this.  _

“Draco, it’s been two minutes.” Harry scolds, and it’s too familiar and it hurts too much. Draco presses his face into his his arms, they’re bent elbows and forearms resting against the barrier the cold leaching through the material reaching his skin. 

“I don't-” Draco strangles out, words dying as he feels Harry withdrawal his fingers and pull a cheek back with one hand, the other leaves his back and he knows. 

“Push back on me.”

It stings then burns then hurts, but it's a hurt he can stand. It's a hurt that can distract him from his aching chest, his flush face, his leaking eyes. This rough tug on his hole is familiar and doesn't pull back memories of being loved. It hurts. And hurts. And  _ hurts.  _

He feels pathetic and sobs silent into the expensive sleeve covering his left arm. Harry’s dick moves erratically as it catches and pulls inside him, it’s not slick enough and both of them are gritting their teeth. Harry withdraws, his tip catches on the rim and stays embedded. Draco can feel him rubbing more lube over his cock then there’s another tentative push forward and it still burns and makes Draco hiss out a hurt breath. Another push and pull, it’s getting slicker, but not easier. 

The knot in Draco’s stomach has made his earlier erection flag, and he’s just taking Harry’s thrusts. Harry’s hands are on his hips and he’s rutting faster as Draco’s hole loosens. He makes a move to reach for Draco's cock and Draco swats his hand away, afraid when he feels his soft cock he’s going to pull out and leave him. Leave him again. 

Fuck, he’s so pathetic. Fuck. Fuck.  _ Fuck. Fuck.  _

“Fuck!”

“Yes, Draco.” Harry whispers, he’s thrusting into him, and mistakes Draco’s noises for pleasure. Somehow this hurts even more. And Draco feels even more humiliated. His arse is loose and Harry’s cock is easily prodding his prostate repeatedly. It hurts, it’s uncomfortable, it's unbearable. Draco wails in agony. Harry encourages him telling him he’s close. Draco finds himself counting Harry’s thrusts to try to distract from this gnawing pain blooming through his body. 

Soon, Harry is painting his insides, cumming hot and without asking inside him. There's a moment. And Draco doesn't want Harry to go home. He doesn't want to not see him again, and even if it’s just for the night he wants him to stay. Harry pulls his softening dick out of Draco’s arse and he feels the mess Harry’s left seep out of him. 

He feels raw. 

“That was…” Harry trails off. It was what? There's so many words Draco could use, but instead he stays silent, hunched over the balcony ledge. He pulls his face up from the wet sleeves of his robes and looks over the manor grounds. It’s dark, but the sky's alight with stars. It’d be romantic if it wasn't for the fact they had just had rough sex where only one of them got off. And if Draco wasn't still exposed. 

“Yeah.” Draco says finally finding his voice, it’s a bit horse. He still feels a wrung out. There's another long moment, Draco still stands there, his pants and trousers are still mid thigh, but he can't find himself to care. Harry steps forward and fixes his pants for him, probably just to do something with his hands. A task to distract the awkwardness away for a moment. 

“Well…” Harry says once Draco’s all tucked away. The moment stretches and Draco pats the area of the stone next to him. Harry throws himself against the stone, leaning the opposite way of Draco. His back against the stone and propped just on the tips of his elbows. He’s leaning his head back and upwards towards the sky. They both lean there star gazing. 

“Well…” Harry starts again, snapping his head down, he makes a gesture with his hand towards the door.

“Stay.” Draco grabs Harry’s hand, it’s hot and sticky from left over lube. Their eyes lock together and Harry inclines his head with a nod. 

Together, they try to avoid any left over party goers as they trek through a less used dark hallway. It’s chilly, the heating charms need to be freshened. They finally see a battered staircase ahead, it’s close to Draco’s childhood room. Harry pulls Draco to him, he runs his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip, shivering slightly.

“We’re not far.” Draco says, then groans as Harry bites down, his teeth almost puncturing the skin. Leaning his head slightly to the left he slots himself into Harry’s, kissing him back sloppily. 

Harry is pulling at Draco’s outer robe, it quickly makes its way to the floor along with Harry’s. They keep kissing, just pulling at clothes. They're so close to Draco’s childhood bedroom and he needs them to get there. They lose their trousers and half of Draco’s button up is unbuttoned, heirloom cufflinks lost on the hallway floor. 

They’ve made it to the staircase, and there Harry pulls his pants to around his knees, he’s still in his own button up. 

“Draco, I want…” Harry pants, pulling at Draco’s shirt and kissing the other man's bare collar bones. “You to eat me out.” Draco has never wanted to do something more. They're still in a public space, but he doesn't care. Most of the party guests should be gone. He pushes Harry roughly against the wall, and turns him around. 

This feels different from before, it feels more risky less vulnerable. Draco goes with it. 

He pushes Harry’s arse cheeks apart and places his head under the tail end of Harry’s shirt. His eyes roll over the familiar dark skin, the same dusting of dark hair, and Harry’s dark pink pucker. There's barely a moment before Draco is lapping his tongue over Harry’s hole. Harry’s groans, as his hips buck towards Draco's mouth, echo in the chilly hallway. 

There’s a push then a pull as Harry shifts, back and forth, intertwining his fingers into Draco’s hair. Harry moves under Draco’s tongue demanding more wordlessly. They shift, and Draco brings a finger and stokes in along with his tongue. Draco neck aches, his tongue grows tired, but he still heeds Harry’s demands of thrusting hips and the  _ yes yes yes.  _

He’s never been the best with foreplay and there's an impatience growing. They need to make it to the bedroom or Draco’s going to fuck him into the stairs and hurt both their knees on the cold marble. Draco extracts himself and lifts Harry up, throwing him over his shoulder despite the protests. Harry’s pants are still around his thighs, arse on display. 

They make it to the bedroom in less than a minute, Draco plops Harry down and latches himself onto the other man’s lips. Harry weakly protests about a teeth cleaning spell, but is soon back to moaning against Draco as the other man pushes his fingers inside. He’s just started on a third when Harry pulls his lips off with an audible lip smacking sound. 

“Just fuck me, Malfoy.” Harry groans out, pushing Draco back, then shimmying out of his pants before walking over to Draco’s wooden desk. He then bends himself over it, pulling his half undone shirt up, arse naked and waiting for him. 

Draco obliges, grabbing his wand and whispering a lubrication charm and sliding his palm over his cock a few times as he walks over. 

“God this drawing is just peak fourth year Malfoy.” Harry laughs, staring at the toilet drawing and making Draco pause in lining himself up. There’s a beat when he thinks about his own emotions, about how this is all a huge mistake, but then Harry is pushing his arsehole to slide against Draco’s dick and he’s gone. 

He pushes in and it’s fantastic. The desk rattles with each fast push into Harry, hitting the wall and making a the antique metal handles clank. They thrust and push and it’s all Draco can think about. It’s the moans of  _ Draco  _ and  _ please.  _ It’s that it’s Harry and his tanned back and maybe the last fire whiskey made him weepy and clingy. He kisses up the mans back, sees the way what he hopes is sweat drops falling in erratic patterns across tanned skin. He can feel the way Harry’s arse doesn't cling to him, the way they slide and it’s home. And it’s just home. 

They know each other so well, and know what the other’s body likes. It doesn't take long before, Draco is sliding against Harry's prostate making the man below him plead with him for release, for him to come, for  _ him. Him.  _

_ Draco. Inside. Draco. Please.  _

That’s all it takes before Draco feels Harry tighten around him with a deep groan he knows well. And then he’s spilling into Harry. 

They lay there gasping for breath, both spent, but Draco feels like his loss of breath is only partially connected to the night's activities. He feels his chest tighten with every second they spend not talking. This is it, Harry’s going to leave again. Maybe for another seven years. 

Harry mutters a cleaning spell over his own cock and hand. Then they stand, panting. Draco is still bent over Harry’s back, catching his breath, trapping the other man there. Draco still feels wet as he pulls out. His dick is still tacky with cum and lube. He uses the edge of his button down to wipe himself off a bit, unsure where his wand ended up. He then peels it off and steps to the side, letting Harry stand upright and stumble a bit as he turns around. They face each other, Harry reaches his hand up and wipes at Draco’s cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry.” Harry says, brushing a thumb under Draco’s eyes. 

“Stay.” Draco says again. It’s throaty. It hurts. It all fucking  _ hurts.  _

“Okay.” They make their way over to Draco’s bed, where they shuffle in and lay next to each other both staring up. They both lay back in the bed, shoulders touching, but the rest of them apart. There's a long silence, where Draco thinks maybe Harry’s passed out. 

“You know…” Harry starts, startling Draco. He turns over onto his side to look at the other man. Harry’s playing with the hem of the blanket, looking down with a furrowed brow. “I really am sorry for how selfish I acted when we were together.” 

“It-it’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not.” Harry drops the blanket and looks at Draco. The wrinkle between his eyebrows has deepened, along with the laugh lines around his mouth and the crinkles around his eyes. “I was an arsehole, always making it seem like you were solely responsible for my unhappiness.” He pauses to lick his lips. “It wasn't fair. I- I can see that now. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks Harry.” They lay there looking at each other in the dim light from the windows. It’s dark, but they both can see each other clearly. “I'm sorry too. I should've communicated with you better.”

“The immob- I'm the really sorry for the immobilize.” Harry rushes out, as if he doesn't say it in that moment he won't ever say it. 

“I mean… I appreciate that?”Draco says a bit strained. They both lay next to each other in Draco's childhood bed. It’s awkward, it’s uncomfortable, it’s potentially the  _ worst.  _

“I loved you for a long time. Even after…” Harry finally says, it’s almost like it bubbled out of him and it bursts the awkward atmosphere immediately. Turning it into something weirder somehow. 

“O-oh?” Draco says, then licks his lips. He feels a sudden rush behind his eyes, he closes them and swallows loudly in the silence. 

“Just-just because I couldn't be there in New York anymore…” Harry brings a hand, the one that had been fiddling with the blanket, up and caresses the side of Draco's face. “It didn't mean I had stopped loving you.”

“Yeah?” It quivers. 

“Yeah.”

“I- me too.”  _ I still do  _ hangs in the air between them. They both feel it, they both know it. Draco turns away, feeling truly exhausted. 

“Good night, Draco.” Harry turns over onto his side facing away from Draco, he pulls the blankets almost off Draco. There’s a moment of remembered domestic life that twinges Draco. He ignores it and flips onto his stomach, naked arms under his pillow. It’s cool and comfortable. 

As the edges of reality and sleep blur he’s not sure if he imagines Harry whispering, “I hope you're happy in New York.”

* * *

When Draco opens his eyes, he’s laying on his stomach, arms reached forward under his pillow. The bed is huge, but he’s clinging to the right edge. There’s a stillness in the air that seems to contradict the activities of the previous night. Lazily, he reaches a hand out to his side, and is met with cool bed sheets. With a bit of a groggy groan he turns his head to the side, the bed is empty. He places his hand in the indent of the pillow next to his. Harry must’ve been there, only to escape in the middle of the night. The pillow is cold to the touch. 

There’s a loud crack, he groans loudly, pulling the pillow over his head. He realizes he’s naked and shuffles a bit to cover his arse, not that the elf cares. 

“Mistress has requested I bring sirs a pick-me up,” the tiny elf is carrying a tea tray with a small vial of hangover potion as well as a cup of tea. Draco downs the vial as the elf continues, “and to inform sirs, Mistress wants to see you in the informal dining room.”

Draco takes the offered cup of tea, the elf bows with the tea tray behind his back. Then with a crack the elf is gone, Draco’s hangover is weaning by the second. Soon he is sipping his tea, and getting out of bed. 

His mother looks unimpressed when he manages to appear in the door. He has the decency to look sheepishly at her, it’s early for him, but no doubt his mother has already been up for several hours. She flicks a glance in Draco’s direction, it’s with one delicate eyebrow raised. 

There’s a long moment, his mother is back to her crossword puzzle. He wonders if any of the guests told his mother about the indisgressions on the balcony. 

Or in the hallway. 

Or on the staircase. 

He doesn't think they were that loud, but eyes are always following Potter. Maybe she won't bring it up, it’s not very proper afterall. But then again his mother would probably find it funny. Except she had been trying to set him up. So it could really go all of these ways. 

Draco feels his head swirl in thoughts, and perhaps still a bit sick despite the potion. 

“I heard there was quite a spectacle on a certain balcony.”

Ah, right to the point. Well at least it was just kissing and some light groping. And minimal fingering and Harry fucking him roughly from behind.  _ Fuck.  _

At least they were still in most of their robes. He might fall on the floor from shame if it had been the staircase. 

“Uh… well…” Draco starts, rubbing the back of his heated neck with his left hand. 

“And on a particular public staircase.” His mother lowers the paper, placing her quill gently on the table in a neat perpendicular line to the table. The smirk she has on her face turns sour. 

“Oh fuck.” Draco covers his whole face, he feels the skin heat, his face feels hot. He rubs at his face and brings his hands so that they are pressing hard against the side of his head, pulling the skin of his wrinkled forehead back, pulling his eyelids slightly so it blurs his vision. 

“Draco, I’m worried, that boy left you a wreck.” Narcissa studies him, and Draco feels his breath start to come out in pants. He feels panic in his throat and chest. 

“I know.” Draco grips the back of his head and pushes himself away from the table. He hunches over, doubling himself so his face is away. He’s gasping for air. He never should've come back here. He never should've seen Potter. 

“The minute you're back here, he’s back in your bed. No, actually, worse, in your head.” 

“I know. I know. I know.” Draco chants, rocking himself back and forth. 

“You’ve been stuck on him ever since you were a child.” His mother makes a disapproving noise, she never really liked them together, thought they were both too volatile. And that Harry was a bit of an arsehole. 

“He said when he left it didn't mean he had stopped loving me.” Draco chances a look up. 

“What a cruel thing to tell someone who’s clearly hung up.” She looks unimpressed, Draco curls back into himself. 

“He meant it to be romantic.”

“He’s still stringing you along, you can't keep doing this to yourself.” She puffs out more air in a haughty exhale, she’s pissed. “There's a reason all your relationships in New York never last, Draco.” 

“I know, mother. I just…” Draco feels his resolve crumble, he flops on the chair limp. He feels tired. He’s so tired.  _ Fuck,  _ he’s so so so  _ tired. _ “Last night, it felt like coming home.”

“Still all these years and he’s still holding you hostage from your own happiness. Since he left you, he has had a whole life, you never started living again.”

“I’ve dated a bunch of men.” Draco feels himself argue halfheartedly. In reality though, she’s not wrong. And in just a few days he’ll be back in New York and Harry will still be here. Perhaps mending things with Oliver, and the words he said last night would be just that. Words. Maybe forgotten in the fog of sex and alcohol. 

“Having slews of one night stands and dating aren't synonymous.” She drawls, taping her fingers on the table impatiently. 

“You don't know New York dating.” There’s a long pause, followed by a particularly long tired sigh. 

“It hurts to see what he still can do to you.” She hasn't moved much, still looking at him from across the small table, observing him falling apart. She drums her fingers on the table again. “Draco you’re approaching forty, you aren’t an irresponsible adolescent anymore.”

“Mom he- he said he was sorry.” Draco feels himself fall. He’s making excuses for Harry, just like his therapist said. Always making excuses for being inconsiderate? Being inconsiderate himself? Something about his father and his relationship? He should really go back, three sessions in seven years isn’t exactly breakthrough worthy. Especially if you stop going because it starts to feel too personal. 

“Please, just be careful. That man has reduced you back to the mess you were with one visit.” Her eyes are tired and full of worry. Her eyebrow wobbles, and he feels his eyes flood with tears. "Any mother would hate to see thier son like this again." She taps on the table again, still studying Draco intently. She’s leaving him soon and he doesn't know of anyone who cares about him as much as she does. 

“I’ll really try.” He wipes at his eyes with the palm of his hand. He doesn't really understand why he's feeling this way. 

“If he’s for real this time, you both have to work on it better. Communicate better.” 

“I’m not sure what last night meant.” Draco answers her honestly. He feels tears slip over his cheeks. “He-he wasn't there this morning.”

Narcissa hums, then they fall into a comfortable silence, and his mother just observes him trying to get it together. She reaches over and catches his wrist. She pulls the sleeve of his hoodie back and looks at the tattoos. Her fingers touch lightly over azaleas, peonies, and narcissus. 

“I’ve always just adored flowers, Draco.” She says not for the first time. He looks at her, her eyes water and Draco feels his mirroring hers. It’s something she’s always said to him, sometimes after finishing up her make up she’d say it, fluffing his hair as she passed the bouquet on her vanity. Sometimes while she smelled a bunch of freshly cut flowers from the garden. Sometimes while they walked the manor grounds, through the gardens. It has always felt like a way she was telling Draco she loves him. 

“I know.” Draco gasps out. She's worried about him, she’s worried what he’ll be like without her. 

He finds himself worrying too. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three has two explicit scenes.  
> (anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, rough sex, one-sided sex, alcohol, drunk sex, public)  
> To avoid explicit parts when you reach Draco tangles his fingers over both their trousers, Skip to He feels raw. 
> 
> Second (rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, barebacking, alcohol, drunk sex, partially public)  
> To avoid explicit parts when you reach “Draco, I want…” Harry pants, pulling at Skip to He uses the edge of his button down to wipe himself off


	4. Late 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s boot heels click on the tiled hallway floor of St Mungo’s. His right hand in his pocket, his left is wrapped around a small bouquet of flowers. Pausing at the door to regain a bit of confidence, he takes a steadying breath, shutting his eyes tightly closed, before pushing the door open.
> 
> Exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Notes:** Thank you, thank you for all the comments, Kudos, and bookmarks. Honestly the last comment is what made me really get back on this. So, thank you girlwhowaited! I'm so very sorry I made you, any anyone else, wait. Honestly, life is insane and I need to practice better work/life balance. Again, I'm very sorry. I just finished this a few minutes ago! I hope you enjoy the last chapter before the Epilogue. Thank you again!
> 
> Trigger warnings in end notes, heed tags. There are brief mentions of sexual acts and thoughts throughout the story.

**CHAPTER FOUR: Late 2018**

The East Village bar Draco finds himself in on a Friday night is exactly what he thought it would be. A purposefully dark basement that smells a bit like stale beer, mold, and wet wood. The warped hardwood panels under his feet are sticky against his converse as he makes his way towards the back. It’s crowded, a bit too muggy, and really bars like this aren't his scene anymore, but he told his new coworker he’d support her music set. Tory, had been incredibly insistent that he come. Going so far as asking him twice today, and more than three times this week not counting today.

So, he’d conceded.

The concrete walls are painted a bright white that really reflect the red and blue dance lights. It’s rough against his palm as he pushes his way against it and through a crowd of young people. He’s made it about halfway to the back, he stops to order a drink. There’s a neon sign behind the bar, it just helpfully states BAR, that paints everything even remotely in the area in a blinding hue of bright red. It’s so bright it blurs all and any lines and definition on the face of the man next to him.

Unless he really is that young that he has no lines.

Fuck. He has to get out of here.

Honestly, he has an early international portkey that he really can't miss. There's a part of him that knows he _really_ shouldn't be here, that he should go home, and leave the early twenty-something's to their thumping music, but he’s here. Avoiding life. And he just paid the fifteen dollar cover charge to a large judgey hipster.

He swirls the whiskey in his plastic cup and drinks a small sip before leaving a tip on the bar and making his way further inside.

Somehow the back with the small stage seems even darker than the front, unless the red neon just burned his retinas. Once he walks passed another group of young people he’s made it and sees a couple of familiar faces from the office. He’d tried to convince Joe, but he told Draco he was way too old and that Draco was too. Draco looks around at all the young faces.

Joe wasn't wrong.

There's a bit of an awkward moment when Draco walks over to one of the coworkers he doesn't really talk to. He can't remember her name and does a bit of a weird wave that she fake laughs at. They chat briefly about their weekend plans, Draco tells her about his international flight in the morning. She seems shocked he's here and there’s a stilted few minutes before she rushes out that Tory is really glad he could make it. She starts gushing to him about her.

“She does work with an animal shelter helping TNR cats on the weekends in East Williamsburg. She knows you have your cat and just loves animals, you know?” Says Unknown-Name with great gusto, ending on a bit of a forced breathless laugh. She seems nervous?

“Oh, uh- that's great. I’ve always been meaning to do more. I just do monthly donations.”

“But that’s, like, _so good._ You and Tory are really just _such_ good people. You know? I don't know, but you guys should definitely hang out sometime on a weekend. I feel like you guys really hit it off at the office happy hour last week. Like you guys are literally _just great._ ”

Draco feels awkward for a beat. He feels the wheels in his head spin for a moment and realizes that Tory or maybe Unknown-Name have gotten the incorrect impression of him. He’s not even sure what to say. His mind spins to the happy hour and how he’d been friendly because they were both new hires he hadn't met that month. He doesn't remember it being anything but professional? And he's always assumes he comes off as incredibly gay?

Unknown-Name is still talking, something about composting. Draco tries to interrupt.

“I think-” The music comes up, and it’s too loud to speak over. Tory walks on stage waving and makes a heart with her hands when she sees Draco and Unknown-Name. She puts on a clunky pair of headphones and begins.

It’s house music. Because _of course_ it’s house music.

Draco has to get away from Unknown, so he makes a vague hand gesture that means nothing, she gives a thumbs up to, before walking towards the edge of the room. He eventually leans back against the rough cooler concrete wall. A group forms in front of the stage and they're all flailing. His fingers are cold and wet against the condensation on the plastic from the melting ice. The whiskey sits warm in his stomach and he’s decided to leave after this cup.

Because it is a plastic cup. And not a glass.

Maybe he is still a bit of a snob.

He places the rim of the cup into his teeth and bites on it so he can unbutton and roll up the sleeves on his button-down shirt. It’s getting more stuffy in the basement and the bodies are just making it hotter. Even in his slim black pants and now black shirt rolled up to show off his tattoos, he still feels like he’s someone's dad. Can some of these people even drink? He grabs the cup out of his teeth and takes another sip.

Before long the back is far more crowded with what feels like thrashing teenagers. There’s a man standing next to him who’s attractive and far too young, judging by the pores on his face.

And Draco is judging. He knows he’s judging.

The lights wave and flash, red, blue, mixing into purple as the song picks up. Draco’s never understood house music, and he’s not about to start. So he waits, his unknown coworker has long since started dancing in the crowd with one of the new girl interns.

He doesn't know her name either.

He thinks that probably doesn't make him _literally just great_.

He decides he’s over this place in this exact moment and starts to make his way towards the front. His eyes catch a young pretty man, who’s talking while swaying with a young woman and another man. He’s shorter than his friends, but he has high cheekbones and pretty flawless tanned skin. There’s highlighter perfectly across his cheeks that catches the blue light as he throws his head back in a deep laugh swallowed by the sound of music. Draco’s eyes flick to his lightly lined eyes that are also glittering in the mixing red, and blue lights. He looks down at his too-shiny lips.

Draco swallows, he usually doesn't approach too-young beautiful men. At least not out. He’ll swipe on an app, but not out at strange bars. Not when they're with their friends. Hesitating for a moment, he sips a little bit of whiskey before walking towards the glittering man. He pushes through the crowd, when a hand grips his wrist and pulls him back.

Startled, he stumbles a few paces and whiskey spills out of his cup after his started squeeze and down his fingers, dripping into his pants.

“You’re beautiful.” Says the aggressive man in an accent he can't place. The word Draco would use to describe him is tall, taller than Draco, so tall Draco is wondering if he could touch the sprinklers just by extending his arm. He’s not bad looking, but Draco doesn't usually do aggressive men. They tend to be really rough and really insistent on topping. And it’s one thing if he’s into it, but tonight, he’s not.

“Well, thank you. I was…” He looks towards the direction of the highlighter man and sees that he’s lost him. They must have moved deeper into the crowd. “Leaving.” Draco says pointing towards the stairs to the street with his thumb barely able to see his own fingers. It’s so fucking dark in here.

“Well, don't.” Draco doesn't respond he just throws back his whiskey. It burns his throat in a familiar way. He then rolls his eyes and leaves. The man doesn't try to grab his arm again and before he knows it he’s in a cab headed home swiping through some hook up apps.

When he gets home, Scorpius greets him with several head rubs. Draco shucks off his pants and walks over to pour Scorpius some dinner in just his green boxer briefs and button up shirt. He’s invited someone over with the simple intention of getting off. He hopes they won't expect a reciprocated blow job. Or an invite to coffee. Or, Merlin forbid, to stay over.

There's not much he’s looking for. At least not now.

Not _tonight_.

Not before leaving for England. _Again._

When his intercom buzzes he presses the key button, and unlocks the door. He doesn't really invite the other man into his apartment, just opens the door enough then closes it. The stranger is on his knees in front of Draco without so much as taking ten steps in.

This is all he needs.

Right?

* * *

Draco’s boot heels click on the tiled hallway floor of St Mungo’s. His right hand in his pocket, his left is wrapped around a small bouquet of flowers. Pausing at the door to regain a bit of confidence, he takes a steadying breath, shutting his eyes tightly closed, before pushing the door open.

_Exhale._

He’s here because the only person left who loves him is dying.

His mother’s cancer has won, and the woman it has left, is almost unrecognizable from the one in his childhood memories. Her delicate skin looks like if he reached out and touched her it might tear. Her blond hair is tangled and unkempt. She appears to be sleeping as her chest rises and falls, breath coming in shallow inhales. She looks almost at peace, and that thought breaks him.

Draco wants nothing more than to turn and run, perhaps then he can pretend she still lives in grandeur and just hasn't been able to write. Maybe he can pretend she’s at her lovely place in France?

But his mother loves him, and it isn't fair or right to let her pass alone.

“Mother.” He softly calls, his voice is bit horse, fading off. Draco clears his throat, “Mother, I’m here now.” His voice is stronger, but unstable with emotion.

He should have spent more time with her in recent years. New York is a busy town where time slips away. Where weeks meld into months, morph into seasons and before he knew it, he was turning down his mother because he couldn’t do Christmas this year. Again. Then again.

She understood, she always understood. Her voice tinged with disappointment, but it had been ingrained in him that his career should be the priority.

It had been two years ago, when she had mentioned that his drive for his career reminded her of his late father. This had struck him as tragic and he swore to spend more time with her, always favoring her place in France.

But it still didn't feel like enough. Now, as she lays here, for her final breaths, it definitely wasn't enough. If only he had more time, even just a few days. Hours even. He shifts weight from foot to foot, standing just inside the door, unsure what he’s supposed to do.

When Father had passed it had been unexpected in Azkaban, alone. It hadn’t been drawn out like his mother's illness. His remains were placed in the Malfoy Mausoleum, underneath his own father’s like all Malfoy’s before.

Draco never wants to rest under his father.

He had left his mother to grieve and take care of everything herself. It had been selfish, but like all things she understood.

With Mother her disease had been fast, but very painful. Magical cancer runs in many Pureblood families genetics, and unfortunately, it ran in his grandmother's side.

Draco isn’t sure when he made his way over to his mother’s bedside, but he’s standing over her. His fingernails press hard into his palm in his pocket, leaving pink imprinted half moons. Narcissa, as if feeling his presence, flutters her eyes slowly open, she looks around the room for a brief second before her gaze settles, looking into her son’s eyes. A small smile gracing her lips, it reaches her eyes with slight wrinkles. He places the flowers in the small levitating tray table in front of her.

“Draco, my love.” She whispers, voice tinged with disuse and pain. The tone sounds so relieved, as if he is the sole reason she has not passed on. She clicks a button that is in her hand, a floating vial by her head depetes slightly. He recognizes it as a concentrated pain potion and shoves his hands into his pockets to stop them from quivering.

“Mother, I-” he stops short, unable to continue with the tremor in his voice. He’s not sure what he was going to say, but he knows he can't continue. There is a long silence as they just stare at each other, unspoken words leaking from their eyes.

“I know, sweet dragon.” She says, her eyes kind with tears, voice now soft and a bit less lucid, with the effects of the potion. She has always understood him. She looks to the flowers he has brought, her eyes light up for a moment. Then she looks to him, her eyes crinkle in a soft smile. “You know, I’ve always just adored flowers.”

Her eyes fall closed.

She never opens them again.

Draco is unsure how long he stands there, his hands clenched in his pockets, everything in him aches. The singular sounds of his erratic, emotional breathing is the only sound in the room for a long time.

* * *

It is sudden when he turns on his heel and exits the room, walking past the healer station and down more hallways. The sting of cold air against his wet cheeks startles him into realizing he is now standing outside on the street in front of Saint Mungo's. He leans over, pulling his hands from his pockets and grips his faces roughly, his fingernails digging into his hairline, heels of his palms pressed hard into his eyes. Tears leak from his palms, between his fingers. He feels frozen both because of the cold, along with the creeping weight of his loneliness.

It’s weighing heavier and heavier that he is completely alone.

There is no one left who loves him.

It hurts more than he could have ever thought it would.

The sound of a camera shutter brings him out of his sullen thoughts. His hands drop, and he snarls through his tears at what he assumes is the Daily Prophet. The realization that he is on the street weeping openly hits him and he stands up straight.

“Fucking class act.” He pushes past the journalist, his shoulder nearly knocking the man over. His camera falls against his abdomen hard, suspended by the cloth band around his neck. When he reaches the apparation point he disappears with a crack.

* * *

Sometime later, Draco finds himself sprawled out on the floor of the sitting room of Malfoy manor. The ancient rug beneath him is soft, if a bit itchy. His fingers flit over the glass of firewhisky sitting on the floor beside him. Condensation drips down the sides, leaving the rug damp. Draco can't even bother to wipe his tears as they roll down his face. They cling to the sides of his cheek, disappearing somewhere between his jawline and ears

The overwhelming feeling of despair and just utter sadness overflows out of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, his body starts to shake, he has no idea how to stop it. So he keeps drinking, lifting his head up just enough to not splash the whiskey all over himself, he hopes it can quell his mind enough to allow him to sleep tonight. Draco touches his left hand to the corner of his left eye, he feels a drop fall against his fingers, the tears slip out of the otherside.

He inhales and holds it, opening his eyes he stares at the bright light. It is until he feels like his lungs are about to burst that he exhales shakily. Repeating this process until the tears have dwindled slightly. One of the house elves, whose name he can't remember, maybe Mitsy, is still looming in the room. Him laying on the ground in a completely unMalfoyish state has all of the elves on edge.

“There's no more Malfoys besides me.” He tells Bitsy or maybe it was Tipsy? That would be fitting. “And there won't be anymore because I’m a shirt lifter, who’s incredibly single and utterly fucked up.”

“Sirs is unwell, Sirs should be laying in a bed.” Nipsy informs Draco, she’s wringing her hands against her pillowcase dress.

Draco chuckles to himself bitterly, then throws his bare left arm over his eyes. All he can hear is his labored breath and the hum of the manor’s air filtration charms. The tattooed flowers and covered up faded snake almost feels cool against the skin of his face.

* * *

Three days later, Draco is sitting in his study, wire reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. The wards chime indicating there is a visitor on the way up the drive to the house. Draco can only assume whoever it is, is dodging the rogue peacocks, one of them in particular has a very nasty sharp jab.

He sets down the scrolls of legal papers and pushes his glasses up as he pinches the bridge of his nose, more out of habit then to fend off any impending headache. He’s had one perpetually loming for the past couple days from the legalese of his mother's last wishes combined with what is a typical traditional Malfoy funeral. His mother’s want to have a Black funeral and be buried in the Black mausoleum have added a bit more complexity to the arrangements. Trying to sort it all out when all he wants to do is lock himself away in grief, has been a bit of a nightmare. But it has helped him get out of bed and move forward with his days. An excuse to actually put on trousers. He pulls off the slim wire frames placing them carefully on the desk, then sweeps a hand through his unstyled hair.

A quick mirror charm shows him that he’s looking semi-acceptable, the dark circles under his eyes aren't anything he can muster the effort to glamour. His glamour charms are never any good when he’s this exhausted anyways. His hair has a slight wave to it as his hair straightening potion hasn't been refreshed in two days, but he doesn't bother. Instead, Draco summons one of his mother’s elves, then realizes that they are all now his.

“Master Malfoy, how can I help sirs?” The elf is bowing so low her nose is pressed at an angle against the floor.

“Please, call me Draco.” He states, continuing forward as the elf protests and threatens self harm, “Can you please prepare a tea tray for our guest and myself? Please show them to the sitting room I’ve been using.”

Draco strides out of the study, making quick work through the many and vast familiar halls to the sitting room. Taking a deep breath and smoothing down the front of his grey sweater, he strides forward and walks through the door.

It's Potter because of course it's Potter.

He wishes he’d straightened his hair.

He appears to be nervous as he sits running a shaky hand through his more-tousled-than-normal hair. He stands up abruptly from his seat, which Draco gestures for him to take again. Harry plops down with a stifled sigh, he looks more normal in his oversized, woolen jumper than the last time he had seen him in formal attire. Then out of the formal attire in nothing. Harry somehow manages to look even more attractive. The weight he’s put on becomes him greatly, he’s almost glistening in the lamp light of the main sitting area. This is where Draco has been conducting most of his business lately. The room with the least amount of memories, since it was one of his Mother's least favorite spaces for lack of correctly facing windows.

“Draco, I was going to come earlier, but…” Potter seems to hesitate over his words, wringing his hands in front of him. He watches carefully as Draco sits down across from him. Draco can’t help but slouch into the back of his seat, he wishes the uncomfortable chair would swallow him away from this conversation. Too bad his father removed all the cursed furniture during the first war. Harry continues, after a long silent pause, “Well, I just didn't know where we stood after… after the party, since you didn't reach out to me.”

“You didn’t exactly write or call or even stay until the next morning.” Draco retorts, lifting his left hand to sit on the arm-rest, cradling his head, fingers pressed over his left eye, thumb wrapping around his pointed chin. “It felt like… what do British wizards say now? Snitch in your pitch?”

Harry doesn't laugh, instead he hangs his head with a soft sigh.

“No, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed, and then you were back in New York and-” Potter looks up, tentative, Draco has always felt like the best tactic to make Harry talk was silence. The other man always seems compelled to fill it when it’s been going on for what he thinks is too long. “I saw your picture in the paper and you looked- that is… I guess… Well, I felt I had to tell you so, I’m here.”

“Tell me what exactly?” Draco drawls slowly, watching as Potter darts his eyes down to his lips, closing them for a moment, as if summoned for more Gryffindor courage. He opens them and bores those green eyes into Draco’s.

“I’m pregnant.”

Draco says nothing, sitting straight up. His left hand hands limp and upright where his head had been a second ago. It takes a beat before he snaps his hand down, gripping the armrest hard, knuckles white.

“What a _joyous_ occasion! _Congratulations_ to you and Wood.” Draco says voice a bit too loud and saccharine. He licks his lips, it doesn't help the bitter taste that's suddenly invaded his mouth.

“I know the two of you had been trying for a long time.” He starts to stand, this isn’t what he needs after all this. It’s very cruel for Potter to do, couldn’t he have read about this in one of those awful tabloid magazines in New York a few months from now. Somewhere else where he could escape the situation and maybe fuck someone sloppily.

“No, you… you misunderstand, it’s yours.” Harry says, his voice soft and quivering slightly.

“But we…?” Draco starts, collapsing back into the seat. “It was… once. Six months…?”

“My healer says that the potion was still active,” Potter wraps both his arms around his midsection, and leans his body forward slightly, “and we didn’t use any protective spells.” He’s staring off slightly to Draco’s right, “Oliver and I hadn’t… we hadn’t been together for a while.”

“How could the potion…” Draco trails off, “you didn’t take it that month though?”

“I guess… I guess when you’ve been taking it for so long, sometimes your magic stores it?” Potter meets his gaze, “Or you know I’m Harry Potter and everything doesn't apply to me.”

“No.” Draco affirms, “this is amazing.”

“You never wanted children, Draco.” Harry looks down again, arms tightening around his midsection. “How could this be amazing? You don’t even live here.”

“What about Wood?” Draco fires back, not answering Potter’s questions. “And really six months? Were you just not going to tell me if my mother hadn't passed?” Draco’s breath hitches. His mother could’ve known.

Harry winches, he looks away, taking his awful glasses off with one hand and rubbing at the bridge of his nose with the other.

“Honestly, Draco… I don’t know? Last… last I knew you were back in New York and who knows what time you’d be back.” He looks at Draco with unfocused eyes, glasses still in his hand. “It’d been six years?” Draco makes a noise between his teeth, he honestly is annoyed that Potter doesn't remember how much time had passed.

Potter steam rolls forward. “You never wanted kids and I thought maybe Oliver would-” he breaks off, looking away again, placing his glasses back on. “Well, Oliver didn't take the news well, he’s not exactly your biggest fan and definitely not happy I dated you. And, well, lets just say, seems like our affair sealed his opinions on us… on me.” Harry trails off and there’s a second of silence. “Anyways, you can be involved or not even listed as the other father, whatever.”

Harry stands, Draco follows, and they both just stand awkwardly for a few silent minutes. Neither sure what to do. They are there too long, when Harry first moves, making his way to the door.

“Technically it wasn't an affair.” Draco blurts out, taking a few long strides towards the other man.

“What?” Harry spins, startled as Draco stands close, too close.

“You, well…” Draco clears his throat, “If memory serves, you were not together, so it wasn't an affair.”

Harry’s nostrils flare, “Well, I’m so happy that on a _technicality_ ,” the word is said with so much sarcasm and disdain, “you’re not a homewrecker!”

“Harry! That! You! Fuck!” Draco loses his composure, the little sleep and stress breaking free, he all but runs over to Harry grabbing his hand.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” Draco blurts out, running his fingers through his hair and no doubt making it curlier, it falls over his very red blotchy face. He blows it out of his face with a loud huff.

“Do I?” Harry retorts, pulling his hand, trying to shake off Draco’s grip. “Let go.”

“I just… I’ve just…” Draco doesn’t continue, opting to let Harry go. Both physically and mentally. His chest fills with remorse, he chills it, his face going blank as he fills his mind with icy occlumency. He can't feel this rejection, not again. “Thank you for visiting, Harry.”

“No.” Harry stalks back towards him, his finger pointed toward Draco. “You don’t get to do that. Not now.” He clenches his jaw and reaches out and grabs onto Draco’s left bicep, then takes his hand off his midsection and grabs onto his right, “Don’t you dare close me out, and put that stupid Malfoy face on! You’re bloody awful at it anyways now!” Draco doesn't even try to look indignant. “Just say it, you fucking coward!” Harry’s shaking him, the room feels like there’s a breeze of wild manic magic. “If it’s bullshit about Oliver, I swear to Merlin Draco I will-”

“I fucking miss you, you fucking prick!” Draco blurts out, throat and face instantly hot. He can feel his ears redden under Potter’s stupidly furious and dumbstruck face. He has no idea what the other man thought he was going to say, but apparently blushing like a schoolgirl claiming he misses him like a childhood crush, after _all these_ years was not it.

Well, maybe school girls would curse less in their confessions?

He doesn't really know since no girls, except Pansy, have ever confessed to him. And she was rather direct, a bit lewd, incredibly confident, especially for fourth year. She had cursed, both during the confession, then at him after he had blurted, rather undignifiedly that he was gay.

Then it all went downhill because apparently, she bloody well knew he was making out with Theo in broom cupboards. Something about seeing Draco, in a rare moment, on his knees in a particularly not well enough hidden spot in a barely used hallway. And she had shrieked obscenities, bouncing in her too tight, too low buttoned Hogwarts shirt, yelling something about comparing sex notes.

He didn’t even know she _had_ sex notes.

So… maybe?

Then Harry Potter is crying, no wailing, in his mother’s, now his, sitting room with the improperly facing windows. Draco feels whatever resolve that was left breaking, he has no idea what to do, Harry still has a death grip on both of his arms and he’s sobbing, gripping hard enough now that Draco actually thinks his arms will bruise. He wonders if he should say something encouraging? But his brain is short circuiting, he was never great at emotions.

And a sobbing Harry Potter is just beyond anything he's ever dealt with.

Angry Harry Potter, sure!

Manic Magic Harry Potter, sure!

Hysterical Harry Potter, no.

“These bloody hormones!” Harry wails, clutching even harder at Draco, shaking him violently before leaning his head forward, so the crown of his head rests hard on Draco’s sternum. He’s definitely bruising, but he thinks his face is at least less red, maybe a bit more panicked though.

Okay, a lot more panicked.

They stand there, Harry clutching onto him for an _eternity_ , the sound of his racking breaths the only thing in the room for several minutes as he collects himself. Harry’s arms go slack, his grip less vice like, and Draco is able to wrap his arms around the man in front of him. Eventually, Harry pulls his face back, wiping it with unsteady, shaking hands.

“Sorry, it’s been hard and weird with Oliver and it’s always been complicated with you.” Draco hums in agreement, still holding Harry in a lax embrace. He takes a step back after a beat, letting go of Harry.

“We were far from ideal back then.” Draco finds himself muttering, “I was pretty fucked up. I still kinda am?”

“I mean, I was fucked up too.” Harry tells him, his voice smaller. “I’m so sorry, I know I said this before, but I always blamed you for my own unhappiness. It wasn't fair.”

“Did you mean… what you said when we were…” Draco trails off, not sure if he wants to ask. Not sure if he wants the answer.

“That I loved you… even after?” Harry’s eyes are wide, red-rimmed, _honest_.

Draco makes a noise that’s soft and noncommittal. He turns away, cradling his arms around himself.

“Draco, just because I couldn't be with you, didn't mean I didn't love you anymore. Leaving you was so hard.”

“Yeah?” Draco looks at him through his eyelashes.

“Yeah, Malfoy. Leaving was bloody hard. We weren't communicating anymore.” Harry brushes under his eye with his fingers. “When I left it didn't even feel like we weren't together for a while. Just that I was on holiday.” Harry sighs, “I missed you like crazy, but I got to be close to Teddy, Rose, and Hugo again. I just was so unhappy without them.” Harry licks his lips, and swipes his hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I know I was a huge prick to you.”

“I know.” Draco says, it’s almost a whisper. “I’ve been working on speaking up about things more.” Draco hesitates, “I’m still not… the best?”

“Draco Malfoy admitting he’s not perfect?” Harry teases, but Draco ignores him, nervous.

“Harry…” he starts, unsure how to word what he’s thinking. Unsure if he should even say it. “You really… uh- h-hurt me the last time we saw each other.”

“I know.” Harry says point blank. It’s not harsh, it’s just Harry. “You were really emotional. I am sorry if… if I hurt you more? I was a little drunk and you were… and I was…” Harry trails off. “I just knew I wanted to see you again, be with you again. I couldn't leave you like that. And then I woke up and just didn't know what to do?”

“So, you left?” Draco hates that his voice cracks on the words.

“It seemed easiest. The least messy?” Harry states, brushing fingers through the fringe on his forehead. “I don’t know. I didn't know what you wanted. And I didn't know what I needed.”

“I think I realized that…” Draco wrings his fingers together. “I don't think… I know how to not be in love with you?”

“That's both sweet and creepy?”

Draco flinches.

“That’s me.” Draco says in a self deprecating voice.

“Let’s try again.” Harry says passionately, his face still stained with tear tracks, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s that fucking Gryffindor in him all head strong determination, ridiculous brave antics that don't make sense logically.

It makes Draco’s chest swell.

“What? Just like that?”

“Of course!”

“Because it worked so well all the times we’ve tried?” Draco breathes out, sweeping his hand over his face again.

“We’re older and wiser! And you have more wrinkles.” Harry says, poking at Draco.

Draco all but shrieks at him in indignation. “I do not have more wrinkles!”

“You haven't glamoured your face, you _definitely_ have more wrinkles.”

“Well, with this kind of sweet talk how could I ever not want to get back together!”

“Your thinning curly hair looks alright unkempt, please date me again?” Harry asks cheekily.

“Thinning! You! Your hair!” Draco squawks.

Then Harry just bursts out into a deep laugh, eyes closing as he leans against Draco.

“Fuck off, Potter.” Draco groans, punctuating it with an eye roll, but can’t help the grin that splits over his face a second later.

* * *

The funeral passes, it’s an affair full of speeches, condolences, and press. Harry is there, but not at Draco’s side. Instead he hangs back with Draco’s estranged cousin, Edward.

There’s a point when he steers Draco away from a particularly aggressive Inquirer reporter, who simply beams at Harry as if he just made his whole article.

It’s when he’s finally back at his apartment in New York that he feels as though his life can come back under peace. But it’s different now, full of text messages and Skype calls filling his mornings. There are sleepy phone calls, and sleepier sexting sessions. It feels familiar and at the same time different than before. It’s the same because it’s new again, because it’s Harry again, because it feels like coming back to a good book you’ve forgotten about. Or in Draco's case a good fanfiction featuring old favorites and nostalgic feelings from years past.

But it feels different because they're talking better, because they're trying harder, because time has just made them different.

Harry casually will talk about his life spent over the past few years, about Teddy who’s graduated from Hogwarts and now spends his time looking at graduate magical creatures courses and interning with Charlie. He explains the hours they had spent together crafting cover letters, applications for jobs. Then the hurt from getting passed over because they expect someone with experience for an entry level position. They talk about how alike Rose is to Hermione, and how Hugo seems like he’s taken a lot after George, but somehow brainier. Hermione can’t help but worry about her son and all the owls home from school. Molly reassures her.

It’s so cloyingly sweet. The overly _domestic_ life Harry has had and has feels so saccharin, so wholesome. So bloody family oriented and different from Draco’s years spent away.

He finds that they talk a lot about Harry, and Draco tries to tell him about himself. But a lot of the past years were spent chain smoking in his apartment with a bottle of something and flicking right and left on men’s faces on his phone. Then doing dodgy activities with strangers off the latest muggle app, sometimes Scorpius stuck around to just make the situations even weirder. The rest of his time that hasn't and isn't consumed by work has been mostly drinks with Joe. Turned dinner and cigarettes every week with Joe and his wizard partner. Talking too many times about being a late in life gay, and the latest wizarding gossip, which inadvertently always ended up being about Potter.

Draco finds it difficult to bring these memories forward. It feels like his life has been filled with nothing. He doesn't even know what to bring forward to Harry when he asks. And it only seems to punctuate the hurt still lingering beneath, accentuate the emptiness inside himself.

They come to a consensus on Draco’s smoking, in that they don't talk about it. They don't talk much about Draco’s relationship with alcohol. They don't talk about Oliver. They don't talk about Draco’s drastically expanded list of sexual partners.

It seems to be working. But Draco’s worried. He’s so worried he doesn't even realize he didn't go home. Instead Draco finds himself outside Joe’s Bushwick apartment a bit after 9 on a Wednesday night. He hadn't texted him prior, and knows he hates a pop in. Who doesn't _hate_ a pop in? But he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he buzzes, then impatiently buzzes again. When a full minute passes, he buzzes again and pulls out his phone and calls Joe. His call gets denied, so he calls a second time, then a third, pressing the buzz on the door until Joe picks up.

“If that’s you buzzing our apartment, I swear to fuck Draco.” Joe’s breath sounds labored.

“All I’ve done is fucked half of Brooklyn then, when there weren't anymore locals, started paying for cabs and fucking Manhattan. And I hate giving blow jobs because I’m so lazy… and… and…” A hipster woman with a dog pissing in the street pretends to not be listening. He flicks her off and hisses at Joe, “Let me the fuck in!”

“Fuck! I’m in the middle of fucking-” Joe is immediately cut off and there’s a lot of rustling on the other end and some not so discreet yelling. Draco starts fishing in his coat pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. If he’s going to listen to Joe and Jerome fight and fuck he needs a cigarette.

“Draco! Lovely to hear you!” Jerome’s voice is rushed, breathless, and utterly full of shit. “Let’s talk in fifteen when we’re not indisposed. Kay?” The line goes dead. And Draco shoves it into his back pocket. He spends the next 40 minutes chain-smoking three cigarettes sitting on their stoop. The cold has seeped into his body, but he can't bring himself to move or care.

Joe meets him downstairs, his hair is wet as he holds open the door to let Draco into the lobby.

“Could’ve told me longer if you were gonna finish.”

“Dude, gimme a break. I’m scarred for life. I talked to you with a cock inside me. Then we had a huge fight and some embarrassingly fast angry kitchen sex.” Joe stops walking and turns around to face Draco. “Can we never talk about this again?”

“Deal.” Draco and Joe are still standing in the lobby. “Is there a reason we’re not heading upstairs?”

“Do you want to face my pissed off boyfriend? Did I not just mention the talking to you with a-”

“Yes, yes, Jerome’s cock inside you. Yes. Yes. What happened to never mentioning it again?” Draco rolls his shoulders, his back hurts from the cold floor. He really is getting old.

Maybe his hair really is thinning. He should brew some potions when he gets home.

“At this point you're just bragging while I remain sexless.”

“Isn’t the reason why you’re having this breakdown, and interrupting our anniversary evening, because you’ve been notoriously not sexless since moving here?” Joe says, knocking shoulders with him. Draco just blinks, once twice before letting out a tiny whine.

“Oh god, Joe… I’m so sorry!” Draco slings a slew of curses, while Joe cackles.

“Dude, it’s cool. You aren't uninvited to dinner, don't worry.” He laughs then leads them to the far stairwell no one really uses. They sit on the bottom steps. It’s chilly, but easily fifteen degrees warmer than outside.

“I’m just feeling like we never really talk about my life? But honestly, I’m not sure what I’d even really say?” Draco pauses, licking his lips. They taste of stale tobacco. “I mean who’d want to hear about reality television and their boyfriend bending over for strangers the last whatever years.”

“Well, he wasn't exactly adverse or indignant over what you told him when you first started dating?” Joe says, knocking their shoulders together, Draco looks up into his friends eyes. “And you were much more adventurous then.” He places his hand on Draco’s and it’s reassuringly warm against his. “He’s been open about his relationships, just because yours were mostly a night or two, and only a couple men lasted a few months, doesn't mean you can't be open about it.”

Joe pauses, licking his lips. He carefully begins the next sentence. “So… so long as he doesn't take advantage of you because of it again.” Draco looks away, he had forgotten he’d told Joe about that night.

“Yeah.” Draco croaks out. He’s right. If they really want this to work they really have to work on talking to each other about actual things. Not just what Hugo got in trouble for at Hogwarts this time.

“Just talk to him! Isn't this what caused you guys to break up in the first place. Having secret insecurities is going to fuck you guys up.”

“Yeah, okay. Tell Jerome sorry.”

* * *

The next morning he calls Harry, he picks up after the second ring. Immediately Harry’s face comes into view, he can hear background noise of Ron chattering to someone off screen. He doesn't know why, but it always startles Draco the amount of time Harry spends at the Granger-Weasley house.

It really shouldn't be surprising.

“Morning love!” Potter chimes, his eyes crinkle at the corners. Draco feels himself frown. He’s shirtless and sitting on his couch, he suddenly feels more exposed and gets up to grab a shirt before anyone else sees.

“Oy! Mate! Is his other nipple pierced too?” Draco hears Ron call out.

“Piss off Weasley!” Draco calls out as Harry betrays him, telling Weasley it is. It had been a spontaneous recent addition, he still has to flush them with salt water, it’s embarrassing. There really should be spells for this shit.

“Harry can we talk in private? I didn't realize you weren't home.”

“No phone sex in my house.” Ron deadpans, his voice is too loud.

It’s too bloody early for Weasley.

“It’s our house, and it’s really nice to see you Draco!” Hermione is suddenly in view, her eyes are soft and her hair has been tamed into very flattering curls around her face as she waves. “We really _must_ get together next time you're here. Harry won't stop talking about you and your name suggestions.”

Draco clears his throat and laughs awkwardly. “He shared them?”

“Sorry Draco, but naming a child Cygnus will never not be weird to me. The fact that your cat is named Scorpius is weird as it is.” Hermione says in a very apologetically polite tone, as if stating he can't have ice cream before dinner.

“And naming the child Albus Severus would be better?” Draco barks, the pierced nipple incident having made him a bit sour.

“Albus was a great man!” Harry yells, coming into view again, his dark brows furrowed.

“We aren't debating this again, it’s been vetoed!” Draco yells, then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry. Alone. _Please_.”

“Malfoy saying please…” Draco hears Ron start, then trail off as Harry moves away into a bedroom.

“Are you hung over? What has you all pissy?”

“I’m freaking out, alright! I have some shit to tell you and I’m just going to explode with it because I don't know how to say _anything.”_

“Ok… Draco… you're making me nervous. Is it about the baby?”

“No it’s-” Draco breaks off, they don't really talk about him and it's stupidly hard to just _say_ what he’s thinking. It's so stupid. He's so stupid with feeling like this. He just needs to _say it_.

Draco realizes Harry is just waiting for him to speak. So he does. And it’s a myriad of word vomit and tears and insecurities and he’s faced the phone’s camera away from him in the end, not wanting to see Harry, not wanting Harry to see him.

There's a long moment of silence where Draco panics internally, still sniffling, still a mess. Fuck he’s still a mess. Who’d want to be with this much of a mess?

“I care a lot about you. I want to hear about your life. Maybe not _all_ the lewd details, but some funny stories or situations. Of course I want to hear about it.” Harry’s voice says from the phone, “Come on, let me see you.”

Draco wipes his eyes and nose on the bottom of his old t shirt, it’s gross, but better than getting up. He then faces the phone back to himself. The little rectangle of his face is red and looks miserable. He almost hides away again.

“Awe, Draco. I wish I could be there.” Harry looks like he means it with the way his eyebrows tilt and face softens. He’s looking at Draco with admiration and concern that swells Draco’s chest. “I’d love to talk to you about work and Joe and your life. I just know it use to stress you out. You’ve always been really private.”

Draco contemplates this, it’s something he’s never really thought of. That his lack of self-provided information would make Harry feel like he’s private about his life. When in reality he’s always just been scared of rejection. Of Harry running away when he really gets to know who Draco really is. Maybe he’ll always be the boy with his rejected handshake insecurities. He has to work on it.

“I want to hear everything.”

Somehow, Draco believes him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four has no explicit scenes, but mentions of several sexual acts. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: Alcoholism, Smoking in excess, Depression, Insecurity, Minor Character Death, Male Pregnancy.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potter mop are some really strong genes.

**CHAPTER FIVE: Epilogue**

**Early 2019**

It’s just passed five in the morning when Draco is awoken from his place laying next to Harry who’s ensconced in all the blankets. On his nightstand his wand buzzes, vibrating against the lamp, and his iPhone left charging on top the dark hardwood. The bundle of blankets, that is Harry, moves beside him with a wracked unsteady sigh. Scorpius who’s at the foot of the bed lifts his head, then stretches his legs out to sleep a bit more sprawled. 

“I’ll feed her.” Draco says in a gruff, sleep-infused voice. He sits up and grabs his wand, rubbing his left hand over his face then through his wavy hair, once, twice, lingering over his lips to cover a yawn. Clad in only maroon boxer briefs, that he thinks are Harry’s, he stands. 

He’s so tired. 

Between trying to work from home on New York hours, therapy, Harry, and the new baby, he’s not sure how he’s still functioning. But he steps forward, and pushes his way through the bedroom door and into the new nursery just a room over. 

It’s painted lavender and grey, with a natural wood crib and similarly light wood furnishings. Inside Daphne wails within her magic swaddle. All ruddy pink cheeks and wet eyes. 

He takes a bottle that’s under a stasis charm and heats it to the perfect temperature with a flick of his wand. Then he places his wand, tip side down, into the waistband of his briefs. 

Wand safety be damned. 

Draco reaches in and lifts up his tiny baby, she continues to cry steadily in his arms. But stops as she finds and sucks on the bottle’s nipple. Her eyelids are squeezed tightly closed, blond eyelashes tracked with tears, and the top of her head is plush with platinum blond hair exactly the same shade as Draco’s. But much fuller and curlier than his own. 

The Potter mop are some really strong genes. 

Merlin help Draco when he has to start trying to tame and put it up in ponytails. Knowing Harry he’ll just let her have free crazy hair. Leave Draco to brush it. Maybe he’ll consult Hermione for spells. 

Daphne finishes and blinks her green eyes open at Draco, gurgling positively at her father. He lifts her up, patting her back to burp her against his bare shoulder, gently cradling her head and rubbing a firm hand against her back. He softly sways her, humming a tune from one of his grunge bands he has on record. 

Celestina Warbeck be damned. 

She falls back asleep and as he swings her gently in his arms, humming a different song, he hears the creak of the door. Looking over, he’s greeted by his wobbly boyfriend. Harry’s tearful, sleep-deprived eyes trail over from the crib to the pair of them. 

“I just- I just had to check to see…?” He lets out a sad choked sound. His postpartum depression has really wrecked him. “All the miscarriages.” 

It's not the first time Draco has heard him mention them since giving birth. Before, he had no idea how many times he and Oliver had conceived to lose the fetus a few weeks, and as far as four months in. It had suddenly made more sense, at least partially, why he hadn't said anything earlier to Draco. Now, as Harry stands, his body’s still aching from all the changes, angry still-healing magical scars lining his lower abdomen from the surgery. His mental state is at its lowest since Draco's known him. 

“She's still breathing, we put that monitoring spell on, so you wouldn't worry, love.” Draco reminds Harry kindly.  

“I just… love her so much.” The brunette exhales, it’s half of a sob, but nods before disappearing with the click of the door. Probably to cocoon himself back in blankets. Some days, it’s all Harry can bring himself really to do, it hurts to see him suffering so much. 

Draco places Daphne carefully into the crib. The new medication they placed Harry on makes him more weepy, but less suicidal than the last one, it’s an improvement, but they definitely need to try something else if he doesn't level out better in a couple weeks. 

Having a baby didn't magically put together their relationship. It sort of thrust them together again, willingly, obviously. But the three months before they had her had been tough work both on themselves together and individually. The long-distance conversations, many compromises, and Draco trying harder to share. The baby’s impending arrival had complicated and accelerated everything. 

As time pressed forward, it felt like they were on a deadline to make their relationship perfect before she arrived. 

But it can't be perfect, Draco has to remind himself. 

Harry had been a lot better before giving birth. Their therapist had helped relieve those fears that they were going to permanently damage Daphne. Too frightened over his own childhood trauma having irrevocably damaged Harry. Over a decade of his life spent in a cupboard with spiders for friends had hurt him in ways he hadn't known. 

The war affected Harry and Draco in all sorts of ways, so young with tough adult decisions. Harry being groomed as a weapon, then grappling with deaths of what little family he briefly knew. Not to mention his own death. 

For Draco, a selfish childhood, riddled with strict rules and bigotry. Later a conflicted teenager mending a closet with threat of his entire family's death by a madman. Getting branded against his will, his own father proudly pointing a wand at him as he screamed and cried. 

Fuck. 

They're so fucked. 

She had told Harry that you can study and prepare, but at the end all parents are just making it up as they go. So, they had thrown themselves into baby books and baby proofing and honestly frightening male birthing classes. But after it all, they’re still figuring out their stride and what works for them. 

Working weird New York hours has been hard on both of them, since Daphne is still struggling with a sleep schedule. As things are with Harry’s mental health, there's just no way he could leave him or even start to work full time again soon. But Draco is looking into working six months out of the year at a UK and NYC based company. So, in the future he can spend half the year stateside, and half with Harry here. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s them. It’s together. They're really making an effort this time. And while it’s rocky some days for whatever reason, Draco really does love what he has here. 

 

* * *

 

**Seven Years Later: Mid 2026**

The sky is a gradient of paling blue and yellow. A mix of pastel and strikingly saturated pink orange clouds hang in the air in slow moving puffs. The backyard is lit gold and Draco can’t honestly think it’d be more fitting for the duo of Gryfindors getting married today. 

He’s sitting on one of the chairs he and Harry had helped Hermione transfigure just yesterday in the mad dash to prepare and decorate the backyard. Hermione and Ron are getting married officially? Or rather are now married magically? They’ve been married the muggle way for over a decade, and Draco's unsure if the paperwork has been properly sealed with magical signatures, but the bonding ceremony has been performed with a few jokes and some tears. 

So by Pureblood standards they're bonded in marriage. 

Harry sits next to him, a beer in one hand as they both watch Teddy chase Daphne with a dragon snout and metallic, spiraling horns. 

“You think maybe the biology of being transfigured into a ferret will affect your lifespan?” Harry asks, eyes following Teddy as be shifts his face into something more reptilian. Harry’s question is cheeky, ridiculous, and so bloody random. Draco feels himself roll his eyes. 

“If not the physical means then definitely the emotional trauma surrounding the incident.” Draco starts making a vague sweeping motion with his hand. “You know, the bit with the being changed in my formative adolescent year by a madman Death Eater who I, at the time, believed was my professor.” Draco smooths a nonexistent line on the thigh of his trousers, then continues dryly. “You know, the _usual_ for Hogwarts.”

“Posh! Just _one_ Death Eater, Draco. T’was just _the one._ ” Harry takes a sip of the beer, it’s dripping condensation all over his dress pants without him noticing.  

Or maybe caring?

“Come at me with trauma when that's multiplied into a whole army, please.” Harry continues, squinting one eye at Draco in an overdramatized tipsy wink.  

“How drunk are you? Is it odd to joke about this on your best friends’s wedding day?” Draco finds himself asking. They do joke about this stuff a lot, as they have both found it’s some of the easiests ways to cope and get through it for them. 

“Nah, would be weirder not to probably?” Draco just stares at Harry with a pale eyebrow raised. “Somehow? Maybe?” Harry’s voice creeps higher and higher with each additional question mark, before he busts out a laugh and knocks his shoulder against the other man.

They sit together just listening to music and looking out at the small crowd containing at least 50 percent red hair. Harry summons another beer and seltzer for Draco off of a levitating tray circulating around the yard. 

Draco’s in an on again, off again relationship with alcohol, and right now and for the past couple months he's been sober. Harry supports his decision and Draco has been better, more normal in recent years when he is consuming alcohol. He makes sure to stop when he feels he's starting to veer towards the direction of out of control. It’s tougher when he finds himself alone back in New York working.

“Have you heard word from your new position?” Draco asks, accepting the sparkling water from Harry. 

“Yeah, I officially have accepted my new position as ministry lap dog.” Harry says as he picks at a corner of the beer bottle label. He’s been worried about taking this job, and thus Draco’s worried for Harry. But they both know that Harry being in a position of some power will help sway some public opinions about some of the more archaic policies. 

“From grooming dogs to being one. I'm not sure I'd call that upward progression?” Draco says, trying to lighten Harry’s mood. 

“Someone has to groom me now?”

“Is that your young, attractive assistant’s job or mine?” Draco scowls as condensation from his bottle drips onto his pants. 

“Hmmm,” Harry appears to actually contemplate this stupid point, bringing his free hand to scrub at the stubble on his chin. “Probably his since you’re all old now.”

“You do realize that you are also just as old.” Draco whips back, brushing away a couple drops of condensation harshly. 

“Ah, but you’ll always be older.”

“By like a month!” Draco pushes his leg out, making a half-arsed effort to stomp onto Harry’s toes. Harry easily dodges, he still has those seeker reflexes, then looks triumphant with a huge grin.  

Fuck, he loves this stupid, smug man. 

“Almost two. That extra month really makes a difference. Especially with forehead wrinkles.” Harry pokes at Draco’s face with a cold damp finger, Draco bats the hand away, actually annoyed. 

“Fucking chill with that sh-”

“Harry! Draco!” Hermione cheers, her voice is sweet and a bit less lucid than during the ceremony. 

“Is everyone fucking hammered, but me?” Draco pipes up, indignant, as he drinks from his seltzer. 

“I’d hope the children. Alas, I think Ron’s forgotten he’s not twenty anymore.” Hermione says, fondly. She looks over towards her husband, who’s currently doing a shot with George. She looks so in-love. It's disgustingly sweet.

“‘Twas a lovely ceremony, ‘Mione.” Harry says, getting up and giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek and a hug.   

“It really was, I suggest our bonding spell when you two get married. It’s not nearly as archaic or barbaric as the ones that traditional Purebloods use.” Hermione shudders, “There’s no elves blood or our own blood or dragon parts.” Draco feels his face get hot at the off hand mention of the possibility of them being married. Hermione just continues forward, “And it’s now recognized as binding legally, after all the work Luna did for magical beings and beasts rights.”

Draco clears his throat. “When… we…?” He raises one pale eyebrow, feeling the tips of his ears redden. He clears his throat again.  

“We aren't even engaged!” Harry cries out, he’s destroying the label on his beer with antsy fingers.  

“Knowing you two you’ll just do it on a whim on a Tuesday. So, just giving you information for that future Tuesday.”

“W-We’d never!” Draco sputters out at the same time as Harry speaks. 

“Yeah, sounds like us.”  

Harry then turns to look down at Draco. There’s a silent beat before Draco gets to his feet and points an accusing finger into Harry’s surprised face. 

“We have to do something properly! For once! You fucking heathen! How? Why- W-what were you raised in?”

“A cupboard.”

Draco lets out a frustrated long-suffering groan. “Can you just- just!”

“Just chill?” Hermione asks, her tone sarcastic, and Draco has had enough Gryfindor snark for a fucking lifetime. He just deflates back into his seat, cradling his seltzer and bringing his other hand to rub at his temple.  

Great. 

Weasley is headed this way. But at least it’s better than girl Weasley. Which Draco’s honestly, _mostly,_ over Harry and Ginny’s relationship, but if there's anything Malfoy’s are good at it’s holding fake grudges.  

“Our wedding has to have at least half this many  Weasleys.” 

“Hey!” Harry starts, but Draco snaps a look at him that makes him blink and purse his lips, looking chastened.  

“Mate, you have been together for what, like two decades?” Ron slips in as he wraps and arm around Hermione’s midsection. 

“Not consistently!” They both interject out together. Draco has a moment of shock where he and Harry just stare at each other. Then he hangs his head in pure embarrassment as Hermione starts laughing. 

Draco loathes them all. 

 

* * *

  

Some hours later, Draco looks over the backyard from a different chair, it’s fallen night since the ceremony and little floating fairy lights illuminate the whole backyard like immobilized fireflies. He finds himself tapping the table a few times in front of him in thought, fingers drumming as his eyes flit from one person to the next. He allows his gaze to dwell on his live-in boyfriend who’s dancing horribly with their daughter. No matter what Draco's tried, Harry cannot seem to retain any coordinated dance moves. Despite his talent on his feet as a dualer. 

There’s that fluttery, warm feeling making it’s way up his chest and to his eyes. Draco blinks several times then taps on the table twice. His fingers twitch to hold something so he concedes. He reaches into his blazer and pulls out his pack of cigarettes, he hangs one limply against his lips and stows the pack away again. With a weak incendio, he’s inhaling the nicotine and smoke. 

Exhale. 

His breath slides between his lips in a thin line of smoke, and he looks back towards Harry.  

Harry who sees him watching from afar, laughs, then leans over to whisper something conspiratorial to Daphne who shrieks with delight before glancing his way. A huge toothy grin pops up on her face and she waves at her other father. 

He places the cigarette back between his lips and he waves back at them, his eyes crinkle in a fond smile as his daughter launches herself in a clumsy spin, Harry has to steady her, with a tan forearm. Harry has rolled up his sleeves to just under his elbow, his formal attire long since abandoned. 

It had taken a lot of time to get here. To become these better, happier versions of themselves. Draco inhales smoke in, lazily leaning forward and cradling the cigarette in a slack grasp. They still bicker and fight, Harry still explodes sometimes, and when Draco’s away in New York they both seem to feel it more and more each year. 

Draco inhales.  

He knows that despite any of the negative things that they go through, they truly are better together. 

He feels loved. 

That's what really matters. 

 

Right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Series-End Notes:**  
>  Thank you all for reading! This part of the saga has come to an end. It’s been a crazy journey of writing, rewriting, reworking, more rewriting the plot and I can't help but be proud to have finished this 30k+ fic. 2016-2018 were a bit of a mess so this came out of my brain. I feel like life’s a lot about being better than you were before, even if the way you are now isn't perfect. Or maybe, I just hope it is. 
> 
> Thanks again, please comment and kudos if you don't mind! 
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Ps Draco’s totes ships Finn & Poe so hard in this universe!


End file.
